Goliath
by GasmaskedMook
Summary: After the Clanker powers deploy their latest secret weapon, Alek and Deryn find themselves in occupied London, fleeing from German soldiers, British freedom fighters and American Intelligence agents alike, all searching for the mysterious "Goliath".
1. Chapter 1

First things first: this universe and its characters are all the invention of Scott Westerfeld, a very talented author who has produced a phenomenally interesting alternate WW1 universe. Unfortunately the publishing process is slow and it will be well over a year before the final book of HIS series comes out (to be named "Goliath" hence the name of my story). I could not wait that long so I started a sort of pseudo-sequel to keep me going. The first two chapters are done. Another three are in the works and many, many more are planned. I will try and update once a week (I'm sure everyone says that) but I will try, GCSEs allowing.

So, without further ado, Goliath!

The first they heard was from Volger. Somehow (the threat of a pair of broken engines and a  
career ending "diplomatic incident" seemed the most likely) he had persuaded Captain Hobbes to give him back his wireless set. The German radio codes were different from the Austrian ones but Volger was anything but unprepared. Deryn had balked at the size of the "borrowed" German codebook that sat by the wireless set. It certainly looked heavy enough to warrant a ballast entry of its own. But a bare few days out of Istanbul, it proved its usefulness.

Deryn had been feeding the flechette bats, sadly depleted during their attack on the Goeben and Breslow. The wee beasties used to be able to cover the entire nose of the whale but now she had to rappel off the hard dorsal scales to find any, the biting wind threatening to rip away her feeding bag. As the last of the little coves yielded their occupants, an intrepid lizard crested the airbeast's nose and began to crawl towards her, eyes narrowed against the wind an tiny sucker feet scrabbling for purchase.  
"Mister... Arp... Vol... No... Cab... Alek."  
It spoke in Dr Barlow's voice but the wind snatched away the words. Deryn climbed up and snatched the wee thing up, keeping it warm inside the collar of her flightsuit. It curled up around the back of her neck and made a contented sigh that sounded worryingly like Newkirk when he was in the latrines (or heads, as the Manual of Aeronautics referred to them). That was not a pleasant thought. Back in the calm of the gondola, Deryn pulled the lizard out.  
"Begin Message."  
The lizard looked at her with big black eyes, unblinking. Then it began to speak in Dr Barlow's voice. There was a strange edge to the lady boffin's voice.  
"Mister Sharp. Volger has given me some news. Nothing good, I am afraid. See me in the Count's cabin and bring Alek." Deryn frowned. She had never heard the boffin talk like that. When the Leviathan was lying on a barking glacier with the Germans boring down on them and no hope of rescue for a few weeks, the lady boffin had only mustered some calculated irritation at the delay. The closest had been in the throne room of the Sultan after his automaton had crushed her poor beastie but even then she had been more shocked and angry. But this time it was different. For the first time Deryn had ever heard her, Dr Barlow sounded afraid.

Alek's cabin was its usual mess of maps, engine schematics and other paraphernalia. Deryn always wondered how he managed to find anything at all. But he seemed perfectly fine, lying on his bed with her borrowed "Manual of Aeronautics". He was reading through it carefully, examining each airflow diagram with limitless curiosity. Bovril sat on his shoulder, his wee eyes looking down on the book too. Could the beastie read barking books now?  
"Alek?"  
The boy looked up, his green eyes opening in surprise as he saw her standing in the doorway.  
"Dylan!"  
He put the book aside. Bovril gave him an annoyed look and clambered down his piloting jacket onto the bed and towards a bowl of fruit on the bedside table.  
"Thank you for lending me that book."  
Deryn nodded. She could see a certain sadness in his eyes. He had confessed, back before they reached Constantinople, that he was in love with the Leviathan. But he was heading for a cage back in England. There was no way he would ever use what he had read. But then he blinked and the sadness was gone, replaced with genuine warmth at the sight of his friend. She actually had to make a conscious effort not to blush. Barking bloody princes! But still, the look helped lessen unease she had been feeling about Dr Barlow's message.  
"Bovril! Stop that!"  
Alek scolded. The wee beastie scurried away and up Delyn's clothes, secreting itself behind her neck. It peeked out at Alek with mischievous eyes and a large grape held in its hands. Alek shook his head.  
"Good thing we didn't have that thing in Switzerland or we would have run out of supplies already."  
Deryn smiled at that, remembering the huge store rooms in the prince's Swiss castle.  
"Anyway, Dr Barlow wants to see us in Volger's Stateroom."  
"Volger's?"  
"Aye."  
Alek frowned.  
"Those two are clever enough on their own. God alone knows what they've been cooking up together."

"Dr Barlow, Alek and I..."  
The lady boffin silenced them with a glare. She was sitting at the state room's desk which was covered with sheets of paper. The German codebook was open and she was going through a pile of Morse code and translating it into letters. Which had the added complexity of being in Clanker. Volger was also at the desk, his eyes closed and a headpiece pressed tightly against his head. With his other hand, he wrote an incomprehensible mass of tiny dots and dashes which Dr Barlow was decoding. Alek and Deryn watched them for a few long minutes until Volger dropped his pen and opened his eyes.  
"Alek."  
He looked across at Dr Barlow who was just finishing with the Morse code. With a flurry of pen strokes, she completed the page and relaxed in her chair. Volger tugged away the finished papers and handed them to Alek. He scanned through them, his green eyes widening as he read. Deryn tried to read over his shoulder but her grasp of written Clanker was still basic and Dr Barlow's rushed penmanship did not help either.  
"What does it say?"  
"They are reports from the German military command in Brest-Litovsk. The Eastern Front has folded. The Russians are surrendering."  
His voice was deadpan.  
"What?"  
It seemed the most appropriate response. Count Volger and Dr Barlow looked equally upset.  
"Tsar Nicholas..."  
"No." Alek replied. "When the German army reached St Petersburg, the Tsar abdicated. Now Russia is ruled by the Petrograd Soviet which has made peace a first priority."  
"But how? The last I heard, the Russian fighting bears were tearing the Germans apart! We sunk the Breslau so the Russians could stay supplied!"  
Alek stared at the documents, his eyes blank. Deryn stared at him. None of it made sense!  
"How did they manage to destroy every Russian army unit from Latvia to Moscow in a matter of days?"  
Alek laughed, a humourless noise.  
"What does it matter? Now Germany and Austria-Hungary have an extra million and a half men to send to France."  
The implications suddenly hit home.  
"So we might..."  
"Lose the war."  
Dr Barlow spoke for the first time. Her voice was cracked. Bovril made an unhappy noise.  
"But how? How did the Germans do it so quickly?"  
Deryn insisted. Volger looked at her with bloodshot eyes. But despite the fact that both he and Dr Barlow had been at the wireless set for several hours at least, he had not managed to lose his haughty air.  
"How indeed, Mr Sharp."  
"'Mr' Sharp!" Bovril chuckled. Dr Barlow gave it an odd look. Alek continued to skim through the sheets, sitting on the bed.  
"Count Volger?" he asked at last, "Have you ever heard of this 'Curling Project' before?"  
Volger shook his head. "Ask Klopp, he's our resident German secret weapons expert."  
Deryn noticed Dr Barlow go quite pale, like something Alek had said had drained the colour out of her face.  
"Are you all right, ma'am?"  
She shook her head slowly.  
"'Curling'? As in Dr Charles Curling?"  
Alek looked up.  
"It mentions a C. Curling. Why, have you heard of him?"  
Dr Barlow nodded.  
"I worked with him in Oxford for many years. But then there was a terrible scandal."  
Deryn suddenly remembered the name too.  
"Wasn't Dr Curling the man who attempted to change the lifethread of his daughter?"  
Dr Barlow nodded again.  
"It is a very sad story and one that I feel I could have averted. You see, Dr Curling was a brilliant fabricator, a protégée of my grandfather and one of my closest colleagues back before I received my position at His Majesties London Zoo. He had a wife, a clever American woman whom he loved a great deal. Anyway, his wife, Charlotte I believe, became pregnant and some tests were run. It was revealed that both Charles and Charlotte carried a recessive disorder in their lifethreads, one that was linked conclusively with near total paralysis. Needless to say, Charles was horrified. He wanted that child more than anything. I should have noticed the signs. When the child was born, however, she did not suffer from paralysis. Instead, there was a much stranger issue. The girl spent long periods inconsolably crying, twitching and screaming. Eventually they had to inject her with sedatives to prevent her from hurting herself. She spent the first four years of her life in a hospital bed, drugged into semi-consciousness. There was no way to cure her. Charles stayed with her almost every day. He read stories, drew pictures, played with puppets. He did everything he could to try and give her a normal life. But her symptoms grew worse. She was in terrible pain nearly all the time. Eventually Charles broke. Near her fifth birthday, he stole some muscle relaxant from the hospital and administered it to her heart while she slept. A terrible tragedy. During the trial it emerged that he had attempted to modify his daughter's lifethread when she was an embryo so as to prevent her from being paralysed. A group of esteemed fabricators were asked if Charles's alterations were the cause of her disorder. They said yes but were unable to pinpoint why. They therefore made the conclusion that the act of altering a human lifethread is the cause as opposed to any specific alteration. Modifying human lifethreads is one of the most heinous of crimes in Britain for this very reason. His license was revoked and he was sent to prison for manslaughter. I haven't heard from him since."  
The room was silent. Then  
"Sad." muttered Bovril.  
"Sad." Dr Barlow's Loris agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

A peculiar man in a black coat was leaning against the observation deck's aluminium railing, watching as the sun began to crest the horizon like a great sleepy eye. To the ensign on duty, it reminded him of the paintings in the old monastery in his village, paintings of God. Powerful and all seeing but kind.  
As it rose, it illuminated the tortured shapes of the world below: a sprawling fissure in the earth itself, like Hell was forcing itself through the surface. The ground was scorched with the impacts of artillery and aerial bombs. Twisting around the craters were the trench lines, thin threads cast carelessly by some giant hand. There was no noise, the zeppelin was far too high for even the booming cannon to be heard. But they could pick out little pricks of light from the German walker battalions, buried into redoubts to shell the French lines. Of the French warbeasts, there were no obvious signs but occasionally the ensign would spot movement too large to be people.  
"Ensign, could you inform our guest that we are ready to release the powder."  
The boy turned to see the head of one of the airship's machine gunners poking out of the access hatch, a young man who had worked as an actor before the war.  
"Yessir."  
The gunner smiled and began descending the ladder to the main node, a small room in the centre of the gasbag with passages to the forward gunners' stations, engines, observation deck and main gondola.  
"Sir?"  
The man at the railing turned, his coat tails beginning to flap as the he faced into the wind.  
"Yes?"  
"We are ready to release the powder."  
The man nodded and turned back to the railing. He pulled from his pocket a charm about the size and shape as a pocket watch. He played with it and it split, revealing a pair of photographs on the inside. The man seemed to notice the ensign's eyes and he smiled sadly.  
"Come take a look."  
The boy was nervous about approaching the man, who carried a bowler hat beneath his right arm, but curiosity got the better of him.  
"This is my wife, Charlotte."  
He showed one of the photographs, a blushing woman with plain looks and dark hair.  
"And this is Isabelle, my daughter."  
The girl was about five years old with her father's blonde hair. There was something odd about her posture though; it seemed artificial. The man looked at the ensign.  
"Do you have family, back in Germany?"  
The boy nodded.  
"And would you do anything for them?"  
The boy paused for a moment and then nodded.  
"Anything," he agreed.  
The boy's response seemed to ease the man's worries. He relaxed somewhat and carefully returned the charm to his coat.  
"Tell Commander to start releasing the powder."

Captain James Christopher of the Household Cavalry watched in amazement as the huge airships descended from the grey rainclouds. He recognised some of them from the Western Front: at least a dozen Kondors Z-50s and a squadron of Albatross Assault Craft, the only airship capable of transporting walkers (albeit only lightly armoured Jägers). It was inconceivable. Clanker airships over London! And they were dropping troops without any resistance?  
"Where are the bloody strafing hawks?"  
"They can't fly, sir. The boffins say they are too sick."  
"All of them?"  
The private looked down at his boots.  
"Yes."  
Captain Christopher swore.  
"What about guns? How many anti-aircraft guns have we got?"  
"The main batteries are up by the airfields at Wormwood Scrubs. They are all portable so we should be able to set up positions to protect the Palace."  
"Get me a line there then."  
The private fiddled with the telephone (They were using barking Clanker equipment now all the messenger terns were incapacitated).  
"Wormwood Scrubs? This is Captain Christopher of the Household Cavalry. We need anti-air guns in the city right now. Can you give me an estimate on... Exactly who am I talking to?"  
The voice on the other side spoke English very well with only the faintest Prussian accent.  
"Hauptmann Fauster, Second Company, 103rd Armoured Recon Division, German Army."  
Captain Christopher stared in horror at the phone. Then he threw the thing across the makeshift outpost as if it was a military grade viperesque. The private watched it smash against the opposite wall.  
"They have deployed troops at Wormwood Scrubs, possibly walkers. We won't be getting air-support any time soon."  
A note was dutifully made on the tactical map. The thing was filling rapidly with red triangles and only the black of the Palace Guard and the blue of the Civil Police were anywhere near central London. The Army was spread out across the Southern Coast, waiting for the Clankers to try something. Now they were hours away and the city's beasties were all sick. Damn those Clankers!  
"Contact, ten o'clock!"  
Captain Christopher looked up just as a trio of Jäger Leichtpanzers burst through the trees around Green Park, their twin machineguns laying down a storm of suppressing fire on their positions. One of the Household Guards tried to clamber up to the Vickers emplacement they had set up atop a pile of sandbags. A stray bullet caught him in the arm and he fell screaming, his red uniform stained a deeper shade around his wound.  
Captain Christopher swore again. The 'Infantry and Cavalry Guide to Anti-Armour Tactics' dictated that the two best ways to fight walkers were either specialist walker-hunting beasties or to hit them with artillery. But all the beasties were sick and Christopher doubted that there were any British artillery officers willing to fire into the middle of London. That left him with the third, least desirous option. From a crate beneath the desk, he pulled a long metal tube with a pistol grip and rudimentary sight.

The Shadow Dancer Rocket is the most advanced piece of man operated anti-walker technology ever to be produced by Darwinist Britain. The rocket is based on a Clanker design but the warhead contains the larvae of the titular Shadow Dancer Butterflies. These monstrous grubs can chew through anything, including sheet metal. Once they have penetrated the armour, the larvae pupate, a process that Fabricators have accelerated to mere seconds. Then the Shadow Dancers are born. They are tiny butterflies, their razor sharp wings tipped with the material which the larvae consumed. In the case of walkers, this would be material would be steel. A cloud of them can easily shred a Stormwalker's six man crew*.

A Jäger's two crewmen would not stand a chance.

The Jäger Leichtpanzer is the most recent bi-pedal walker design to come from the German Military. It was developed as a light reconnaissance vehicle: made from lightweight aluminium and fitted with a powerful Daimler engine, it can easily outrun a horse or even a tigeresque. It has seen heavy usage in the ruins of Verdun (where its low profile and flexible legs allows it navigate trenches) and in airship based missions where its lightweight aluminium chassis is invaluable, the entire walker weighing only around two and three quarter tons. Its main armaments are a pair of Spandau Maschinengewehr 08s that are staggered so as to reduce the MG08s unfortunate overheating problems. Despite those issues, each MG08 is still easily capable of firing 400 7.9mm rounds a minute.

More than enough to rip through the standard Household Cavalry cuirass and the person wearing it.

* Warning! Severe attention to detail issues ahead:  
In the beginning of Leviathan it mentions a Stormwalker having a crew of five but there are six positions in the walker:  
One commander (Volger/Alek)  
One pilot (Alek/Klopp)  
One main gunner (Bauer)  
One loader (Hoffman)  
Two machine gunners (Alek, Deryn, Klopp, Volger)  
Just in case someone tries to correct me on that one. I hate being corrected on details. It shows that I am too ignorant of a piece of literature to try and write about it.  
But feel free to correct me on spelling, grammar or style issues.  
I won't bite. ; )


	3. Chapter 3

I have just realised that I have I rival Goliath pseudo sequel on this site. I will have to read "Your-face-the-granola-bar"'s version so we don't end up too similar. But great minds think alike and all that...

Anyway, I present the third chapter. I am submitting them pretty quick but that is only to get the flow of the story going. And explanations to all my "Deus ex Machina"bits are coming soon.

Chapter 3

"The following are guilty of violent breaches of International Law and have been requested to surrender themselves to the appropriate authority by the end of the month:

Captain Thomas Robert Hobbes of the Leviathan. Violation of Ottoman neutrality, unprovoked and fatal attack on the Ottoman Navy, aiding and encouraging espionage and sabotage on a neutral power.

Dr Nora Darwin Barlow, Head Keeper of the London Zoo. Aiding said attack on the Ottoman Navy, illegitimate use of diplomatic privileges, aiding and encouraging espionage and sabotage on a neutral power.

Midshipman Dylan Sharp of the Leviathan. Direct acts of espionage and sabotage on a neutral power, engaging in terrorist activities within said power, violent and deadly attacks on the Ottoman Army and the crew of the Orient Express.

The admiralty also reminds Captain Hobbes that he has five prisoners of war who, being captured in a neutral state, are being illegitimately and illegally held. Those prisoners are:

Wildcount..." the Captain stopped here, as if he had encountered a word that he had no intention of trying to pronounce, "...Volger of Southern Trieste.

Corporal Hans Bauer of the Habsburg Guard.

Engineer Karl Hoffman of the Habsburg Guard.

Master of Mekanics Otto Klopp.

And a boy under their protection.

He is requested to return them to their sovereign state.

Finally, the airship "The Leviathan", as part of our military disarmament agreement with the German Empire, is to be decommissioned. Once the other matters have been settled, First Lieutenant Craymer is to fly to Munich where the Leviathan will be released into German custody.

These are the direct orders of the Admiralty board. Failure to comply with them is both mutiny against the British Air Service and Treason against the Crown.

Signed Sir Anthony Groveback, representative of the Admiralty Board."

Captain Hobbes stopped speaking and placed the letter back onto the table. Everyone named in the letter was crowded into the Map Room along with three of the Leviathan's officers. Silence reigned.  
"I have decided that I have no choice. As master of the Leviathan and a servant of the Crown, I am duty bound to obey the Admiralty's orders. Regardless of who is running the show in London..." he gave Dylan a sharp look and the boy bit his lip, "I am not willing to endanger the lives of my crew over a diplomatic incident I take full responsibility for. I have called you all here to ask whether you will be willing to do the same." he looked at Alek and then at Dylan.  
"Sabotage and terrorism are hanging offences. And from what I understand, the fate of political usurpers is similar."  
The three officers paled.  
"But sir, you cannot possibly mean that...?"  
"If we surrender, everyone named in that letter will be executed. If we do not, the Leviathan will be hunted down and its entire crew shot for mutiny."  
Dr Barlow's Loris made a worried whimper.  
"But those orders didn't come from the admiralty not really. They came from the Germans, didn't they? All the admiralty did was write it out on their stationary and put some barking big signature at the bottom..."  
Captain Hobbes gave Dylan a hard look.  
"King George surrendered unconditionally to the Germans. We have to play by their rules. That is how it works, Midshipman."  
Alek could only stare at the maps on the opposite wall. It had happened too quickly. St Petersburg had fallen when they were flying across the Urals. When Istanbul had been "reclaimed" by the Sultan and the German Sixth Army, The Leviathan was given orders to turn around. By the time they reached the Black Sea, Paris had fallen and the British Army had been encircled in Belgium and Dunkirk. The Leviathan had flown south, carefully crossing the newly hostile Ottoman Empire, ending up just west of Palestine's Mediterranean coast when London was stormed by the German LuftKorps. The next day, King George had met with Generalfeldmarschall Hindenburg of the German Eighth Army to surrender unconditionally to the German Empire and the Kaiser.

The war was already over. And the Germans had won.

Perhaps God was just playing games with him, letting him stumble a few steps before showing him just how insignificant he was, how childish. Back in Istanbul, with the Committee, he had genuinely thought he could change the world. But in two short weeks, everything he had done or aspired to do had been destroyed.  
For the first time in a very long time, Alek felt like he needed to cry.

Deryn was about to cry too.  
This was it. Her country was captured, her airship home doomed to be sent to some Clanker laboratory to be pulled apart bit by bit, her friends all facing the firing squad. Somehow it made her feel very very small.  
Captain Hobbes spoke but it sounded far away.  
"So, Mr Sharp. Are you willing to surrender to the Ottoman Empire?"  
Deryn nodded dumbly. What else could she do? She wasn't about to drag the rest of the barking crew into mutiny, even if it was against thinly disguised Clankers. That would be unsoldierly and, oddly enough, it made her feel slightly better.  
"Dr Barlow has already made it plain that she would surrender as long as she was allowed to represent herself at the tribunal. Those Turks won't know what hit them."  
There was some laughter, if only to relieve the tension. Captain Hobbes turned to Alek and his Clanker friends. Count Volger met the Captain's apologetic gaze with his own imperious glare. Alek was staring blankly at the opposite wall, tears threatening in his green eyes. Deryn reached out and gripped his shoulder. He turned and smiled weakly at Deryn's hand, successfully blinking away the tears.  
"We will be willing to return to the Germans, Captain." Volger's voice was dripping in sarcasm, like poison from the fangs of a viperesque, "We thank you for giving us so much choice in the matter."  
Captain Hobbes made a face.  
"You had as much choice as I did, Count."  
The Map Room was silent for a very long time.  
"Very well. There is an Ottoman cruiser waiting at Cyprus. In the meantime..."  
The door flew open. Through the door stood Second Lieutenant Williams and Midshipman Newkirk. Behind them, half the crew seemed to have forced themselves into the narrow corridor.  
"Lieutenant! What is the meaning of this?"  
The Second Lieutenant stood to attention and shouted like any good Second Lieutenant could.  
"We heard you were going to surrender to the Ottomans, sir. To save the crew, sir. Well I spoke with the crew and we've decided we don't need any saving, sir."  
"My orders stand. Return to your stations immediately."  
Midshipman Newkirk paled slightly but he stood his ground.  
"With all due respect, sir, if you insist on sacrificing yourself, we will have to mutiny."  
Mutiny? Deryn stared at the midshipman, astonished by what he had just said. She had never thought Newkirk, a boy who was terrified of barking everything that moved aboard the Leviathan, would be capable of starting a shouting match with Captain Hobbes.  
The Captain met the midshipman's gaze and there was an endless silence. Then he smiled.  
"I suppose this isn't the sort of day where God gives many options. Very well, Midshipman. We will set course for India."  
There was a cheer from the corridor and Deryn joined them. For the first time since London had been stormed, she felt a squick of hope.

"Ah, Mr Sharp. Thank you for arriving so promptly."  
It was Deryn's second visit to the Map Room in as many days and she hoped he had better news this time around.  
"You mentioned it was important, sir."  
"It is. Please close the door."  
Deryn dutifully did as she was asked and sat herself on one of the jumble of chairs around the map table. The Captain pulled a large parchment envelope from his jacket  
"These are orders from the Crown. And they were given to me when I first became Captain of this ship, seven years ago. I was only to open them in time of national emergency. I would consider the invasion of mainland Britain to be such an occasion."  
The letter's wax seal was already broken.  
"I originally intended to send one of the Marines to complete these orders but this mutiny business has freed up a far better candidate."  
"M...me, sir?"  
"You have proven yourself to be a most resourceful lad. Not only did you successfully foul the Ottoman kraken nets, you also managed to destroy the German Tesla cannon and help install a friendly government. At least for a while."  
The Captain smiled sadly.  
"Regardless, you are exactly the sort of man I would want doing this mission. I will not pretend it will be easy or without risk but from reading between the lines, I would think that a lot is at stake. Possibly enough to push the Germans out of Britain."  
Had she heard the Captain correctly? This was big. Too big for a wee lassie in boys clothes. She wanted to say something to that effect but stopped herself just in time. Instead she said:  
"But what can I do that would defeat an entire army?"  
"You did it in Constantinople, I seem to remember. But this will not be as easy as a few spice bombs. Inside High Command's main offices, there is a bundle of documents which contain research notes behind something big. These notes need to be handed over to the American Embassy who will find a way of getting them to whatever government-in-exile Lord Churchill has managed to set up."  
"Documents, sir?"  
"Yes. In the central archives beneath the Military Command's main offices in London. They are labelled underneath the codename: Goliath."


	4. Chapter 4

All right, this one is shorter and mostly character development. To keep your interest, I sneaked in a bit of Volger-Barlow action. Still not sure if it'll go somewhere. I have to say, it is very fun to right as Volger.

Chapter 4

"Volger, are you sure this is the same man?"  
"I remember the von Richthofens very well. What their eldest son is doing running an airbase in Palestine is more confusing."  
"And you are sure we can trust him?"  
"Your father was not unknown amongst the military elite of both Austria and Germany. Some resented him for his peaceful mentality but others understood that it was the best course for Austria-Hungary. Even soldiers tire of war. The von Richthofens were such a family. I knew Baron Albrecht the best but his sons shared his views."  
"Sharing political viewpoints is one thing. Hiding fugitives is quite another!"  
"I appreciate your concern, Hoffman," Volger said, steel entering his voice, "But this is our only chance to get off this accursed ship before we are used as some bargaining chip by the British government in exile."  
Alek cleared his throat, aware that they did not have much time before one of the Darwinists could find their hiding space.  
"So tell me about this 'Manfred von Richthofen'."  
"Barking spiders!"  
The assembled men span around. Dylan was standing in the doorway to his cabin, staring at them.  
"What are you doing here?"  
Alek stood forward.  
"Volger was worried that our cabins had recording beasts in them so he insisted we find someplace they wouldn't suspect. He suggested here."  
"Why would he pick..."  
Dylan paled. Alek turned and noticed that the Count was giving Dylan a hard stare, like he did when Alek had forgotten something important and was trying to remind him without saying it. Volger broke the suddenly cold silence.  
"Don't worry. Mr Sharp is going to help us, isn't he?"  
Volger's gaze remained locked with Dylan's.  
"Stop it, Volger. Dylan will help us if he wants to. Do you, Dylan?"  
The boy nodded, his face still pale.  
"Good. And calm down. Volger isn't going to stab you or anything."  
Dylan sat on the edge of his bed, some colour returning to his face.  
"Volger knows the commander at German airbase about twenty miles inside the coast. If we can sneak off, we can reach the base and fly to a friendly power."  
Dylan shook his head.  
"What friendly powers are left?"  
"The United States will probably take us. They have been very isolationist the past few years so they hopefully won't throw us back to the Germans. Definitely preferable to whatever the British government-in-exile will do."  
Dylan frowned.  
"You don't trust Lord Churchill? I mean he stole the Ottoman's warship but..."  
"The LuftKorps took a lot of prisoners when they stormed London. Some of whom are definitely important enough to be worth exchanging some Austrian nobleman for."  
"Aye, I see."  
Dylan seemed lost for a moment.  
"I suppose I won't be seeing you again."  
Alek felt a twang of pain. Dylan had been at his side through everything since Switzerland. All those weeks aboard the Leviathan. He had shown him how to swallow ones fear and hang from the ratlines at eight hundred metres. Suddenly, he remembered that cold night, just before they reached Istanbul. Dylan had spoken out about his father's death for the first time. Perhaps it was the cabin's dim light but Alek thought he could see the same paleness, the same drawn lines across his friend's face.  
"Perhaps I can take a letter for you. To your family in Britain. We will have to refuel in London after all."  
Dylan looked up.  
"London..."  
Suddenly the boy's paleness disappeared. He jumped to his feet.  
"I'll be back in just a second!"  
Volger watched him go, with not the faintest sign of alarm. Bauer stuck his head out the cabin door.  
"He did head towards the bridge, sir."  
"Don't worry about Dylan."  
Volger and Alek said together. And maybe it was just his imagination but Alek thought there was something strange about the way Volger said "Dylan".

The Captain was strangely enthusiastic about allowing five important political prisoners to walk off his ship freely, to the point where he offered a crewman to accompany them. Volger was a suspicious man at the best of times and when the Captain had walked up to him in his crisp blue uniform and his forced smile, Volger had been very much tempted to call the man's bluff. But he had swallowed that particular temptation. If he had learnt anything from babysitting Alek, it was how to restrain oneself when you really, really wanted to hit someone. Still, Dylan or whatever that girl was called, was not a bad ally to have and they might need someone with experience of beasts and English as their native tongue.  
"Herr Volger?"  
He turned, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown.  
"Ah, Dr Barlow. News?"  
'Herr' had been an old insult, thrown at him by the boys of the greater families who mocked the mere 'wildcount's son'. But somehow, from this female Darwinist he had only met a month and a half ago, it did not hurt.  
"The Captain has forbidden it. Completely and utterly."  
"I wasn't under the impression you were going to listen to him anyway."  
"Right as always, Herr Volger."  
"And you have a plan?"  
"If asking questions you already know the answer to makes you feel superior to others..."  
Volger smiled. This Darwinist woman was sharp. Sharper than most. But of course he already knew that.  
"I am hurt, Ms Barlow."  
Her eyes darkened and Volger felt a flicker of satisfaction. It was an unspoken game they played, baiting each other, testing...  
Dr Barlow began to walk towards her cabin and Volger called out to her as she reached the doorway.  
"Are there many female fabricators in Britain?"  
She turned and gave him a haughty stare.  
"No. I am the only one."  
Then she was gone. Volger watched the door slam and he began to laugh quietly to himself.

Saying goodbye was harder than she had thought. Every other time Deryn had left it, she knew she would be returning. But now the Leviathan was disappearing off to the other side of the world and she would be heading off in the opposite direction. She patted the Leviathan's leathery flank, feeling one last time the hum of membranes and the totality of the airbeast's ecosystems. Deryn rested her head against the membrane. She wondered if this would be her last time with a beastie like the  
Leviathan. The Germans had probably destroyed any left in Britain. She would be heading to Clanker country now.  
"Mr Sharp!"  
Newkirk waved from the top of the airbeast.  
"The Clankers are getting ready to leave!"  
"Aye!"  
Deryn called back. Going near a German airfield was a big risk for a beastie the size of the Leviathan so they needed to be quick. Back in the gondola she almost hugged Newkirk and Mr Rigby before she realised how THAT would look. So she contented herself with a firm handshake. They smiled and laughed and joked about little things. Newkirk promised not to get too scared of the sniffer dogs now that Deryn wouldn't be around to help him. Mr Rigby told her that he would give her a test on the family trees of the message lizard subspecies as soon as she got back. When it finally came time to leave, Deryn felt a tightness in her chest. But Alek was waiting for her, Bauer and Klopp too. Of course that meant Volger would be with them but when it came down to it, Deryn knew that she which side she wanted to be on.

The tightness stayed long after the crewmen's waves blurred and the Leviathan dipped below the horizon, towards the rising moon.

PS: Yes. THAT Manfred von Richthofen. Well, I needed a German nobleman who is also a pilot and its world war one so who couldn't resist sneaking the Red Baron in there. If anyone is offended by my character interpretation (next chapter) then I stress this is a work of fiction. If you get really, really offended I'll change the character's name. (If you haven't noticed, I got flamed on a previous forum for my "alternate character interpretations" of historic figures. Not a pleasant experience). To end on a high, expect some action in the next chapter (half done) and a familiar face in the one after (planned but not started). And finally, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. You keep me motivated to churn these out.


	5. Chapter 5

Kaiser Wilhelm's father, Frederick III was an avid supporter of liberalising Germany's feudal, militaristic regime. Many historians believe that if Frederick had lived longer or he had been closer to his son, Germany may have liberalised without the violence that defined the first few years of the Weimar Republic. This is fact.

Also, I thought you loyal readers deserved some action so the second half takes place in the war torn streets of Consta... I mean Istanbul. Be careful of Lilit. I didn't mean to make her so scary but in the end, I quite liked the atmosphere it created. The war has been a little too comfy after all...

Part 5

The geometric patterns of the Brandenburg Palace gardens always fascinated Kaiser Wilhelm II. When he was a child, he would always get lost in the interlocking hedges, spread out like the gears of some enormous clockwork mechanism. Every corner would bring new mystery: a bed of white lilies so soft that it was almost like a feather mattress, a pond filled with inquisitive fish in bright tropical colours, a statue that saluted him with a whirr of clockwork... Then he would clamber to the Audience Chamber on the top floor of the Palace and all the vast gardens would be laid out below, their secrets and charms revealed like in some industrial blueprint. He stood at the long window, his frail left arm hidden inside of his evening jacket as if reaching for a cigar.  
A polite cough from one of the servants reminded him who he was keeping waiting. Turning from the window, he seated himself on one of his plush armchairs. There used to be some sort of stool made from ebony and red velvet but the thing was far too uncomfortable to sit on during a meeting of the high command and his father had discarded it. Now he had an armchair, and one that could light cigars and pour champagne, though the mechanical arms were still a little too clumsy for those most delicate of arts.  
The Minister of the Interior was seated on his right, maintaining his signature silence, his temples lightly dusted with silver hairs that hadn't been there when he took the position less than a year ago. He lay back in his chair, his posture languid and bored but his grey eyes betrayed a restless intelligence as they observed the assembled military men. They were all impatient. Strange. In the military academies, patience was regarded as one of the finest of virtues.  
"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Kaiser Wilhelm the Second, King of Prussia and Emperor of Germany." the men all bowed at the crier's introduction.  
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Generalfeldmarshall von Heste?"  
The man was flustered about something. And Kaiser Wilhelm believed he knew what it...  
"Your Highness, I must protest at the orders we received from THAT man."  
The Generalfeldmarshall pointed furiously at the Minister of the Interior.  
"Cutting our budget by HALF in FIVE years? Withdrawal of ALL occupational forces in TWO?"  
The Minister of the Interior stood and clasped his hands behind his back.  
"Are you saying it cannot be done, Generalfeldmarshall? From a purely logical, logistical point of view, I mean."  
Von Heste raised his hands.  
"Of course it can be done but it would..."  
"Then do it."  
The Minister snapped. Von Heste stared at him, taken aback.  
"We need that money to..."  
"To do what?" the Minister of the Interior strode up to von Heste. "To build more walkers? To buy more dreadnoughts? This country doesn't need any more goddamn war machines! We need proper agriculture! We need more factories, more trade routes, more universities! You won the war. Well done. Now let the rest of the country do its goddamn job!"  
If he didn't dislike von Heste so much, Kaiser Wilhelm would have fired the Minister of the Interior on the spot. But right now, it seemed an appropriate enough wake up call to an over bloated military. von Heste looked positively dumbstruck. Perhaps it would have been worth it just to see the outrage on that old war horse's face.  
"Generalfeldmarshall, go back to Berlin. You have a budget to rethink."  
von Heste stiffened.  
"Yes, Your Highness."  
He turned and strode out, the other generals in tow.  
"Antagonising the military. As far as political suicides go, that is quite a good one."  
The Minister of the Interior turned.  
"I got too emotional. I am sorry, Your Highness."  
"You believe it is the right thing to do and I trust you. My father always argued that the military held too much sway over this country's politics. Now we have secured ourselves from the Darwinists, perhaps it is time to rebuild the nation in a more peaceful way."  
The Kaiser resumed his position at the long window.  
"But reigning in the military is only the first step."  
"So you are serious about this?"  
Kaiser Wilhelm thought back to his father. The animation that had entered his voice when he spoke of it, the joy it brought the old man even as he neared death.  
"Yes. I do not care who or what stands in our way. We will make this nation everything my father dreamed it would be."

Normally, a printer's boy could never hope to be a surgeon. Being a surgeon meant years of expensive training and recommendations from "respectable people". But Karl Neumann was on his way to the top. Sure he was only a field medic now but it was training. He even got paid for it. Soon, very soon he would be promoted to a field hospital. Probably not a surgeon immediately but he would help one, learn all he needed to know and then he was going to show them how smart the son of a printer could be! He had it all planned out.  
"Incoming!"  
The shout brought his thoughts crashing back to Earth. On pure instinct, he threw himself to the floor. For a moment, he thought it had been another false alarm. Then there was an explosion of noise. The wall seemed to shatter into a thousand stone and plaster fragments. One of the soldiers screamed, a jagged shard planted itself in his shoulder.  
"Medic!"  
Karl tore his eye from the collapsing wall and crawled over to the soldier.  
"Don't pull it out!"  
The man's comrades turned, his hand on the stone shard. Karl pulled himself over and pulled a thick wad of gauze out of his pack.  
"Private, I need you to hold it over the wound."  
The man's friend complied. Karl chanced a glance at the wall. It was cracked but whole. What had...?  
A metal fist burst through the wall. Each finger was as wide as Karl's waist and segmented like some medieval suit of armour. With a clash of pistons, the vast fingers flexed and then opened wide. A soldier yelled something incoherent and fired his rifle. The sergeant grabbed his shoulder, saying something about ricochets but the man kept shooting. Then the hand reached forward, its metal fingers wrapping around the screaming soldier. He struggled, his arms flailing. The pistons roared and there was a sickening crunch.  
The hand retreated out the wall, leaving the broken corpse of the soldier.  
"Get out of the building. Now!" The sergeant roared.  
"But what about..."  
"Hurry!"  
The sergeant pushed two of the soldiers towards the door. Stirred into motion, the rest of the unit made for the exit. Karl pulled the wounded soldier's good arm around his neck and pulled him to his feet. The man swayed but with his friend's help, they half carried, half dragged him down the stairwell and into the garden, abandoning the broken body of their former comrade alone in the collapsing room.  
The garden was a small tiled courtyard, typical for this district of Istanbul. The bubbling fountain looked absurd amongst the crowds of armed men. Someone had set up a dressing station with half a dozen field beds. Karl let the injured man slip from his shoulder and onto an empty bed. The man's eyes widened as he saw the linen mattress was stained with dried blood and his friend began speaking to him, meaningless distracting words to take the man's mind off his wound and the blood stains.  
"Neumann! Get over here!"  
Karl scrambled over to the sergeant.  
"Whatever that thing was..."  
The boom of cannon fire shook the courtyard, the blast wave deafening the assembled men. The sergeant opened his mouth but all Karl could hear was a high pitched ringing. He could still feel rumbling in his boots. Were those steps? Over the courtyard wall, a huge figure loomed, black against the red tinged sky.  
It was demonic. Its huge horned head was thrown back as if roaring out some terrible war cry. Its arm reached out, its fingers still splattered with the blood of the man upstairs.  
Another boom shuddered through his bones. The monster shuddered, boiling steam bleeding from ruined pneumatics as its chest was struck with a shell. It turned. A walker, beautifully simple and angular, stormed towards the stricken demon, its cannon smoking and white crosses painted on its dull steel armour. Then the monster reached out with its clawed hand and grasped the canon barrel. The walker tried to step back and Karl realised he could hear the screech of metal scraping against stone. The demon twisted the walker's cannon and the terrible sound of tearing metal renewed its assault on Karl's damaged eardrums. The walker stumbled back, its cannon ripped out of its belly by the demon's hand.  
By now the entire platoon was staring in awe at the duelling walkers. They watched in collective horror as the demon forced its hand into the ruined gun port.  
"Take cov..."  
The walker's belly exploded in an orange fireball that engulfed both the titans. The shockwave lifted the men off their feet and threw them across the courtyard. Whiteness filled their vision and the world became suddenly absolutely silent.

The high pitched ringing returned. He felt his ears and saw blood on his fingertips. The wall of the courtyard had been broken by explosion and the falling walker. White steam and brick dust filled the air. He could not see further than ten metres. He stumbled idly through the gloom, only vaguely aware of the corpses underfoot. Then he saw a standing figure through the dust. He called out to it but he could not hear his own voice. The figure turned. It was a girl, barely seventeen. Blood flowed from a cut on her temple and she held a hand over her stomach where a rapidly growing stain betrayed a greater wound. He called out again, this time in what little Turkish he knew.  
"I can help you."  
He stumbled through the broken masonry towards her, reaching into his pack. She stood stock still, her attractive face as white as sterile bandages. He smiled to calm her.  
"Don't worry. You are going to be just..."  
He felt a sudden pain in his chest, bringing him to his knees. He looked down. She had stabbed him, through the collar bone and down into his lung.  
"...fine"  
He whispered. He could feel blood entering his lungs, fouling his speech. He tried to speak again but blood filled his mouth. He spat and managed to whimper out.  
"Please."  
He looked into his killer's eyes. They were deep and brown and filled with hatred. She said something but he couldn't hear it. His lips moved but no noise escaped his blood clogged lungs.  
"Please."


	6. Chapter 6

I'm sorry this one took longer than usual. I'm back at school and was hit with two 2000 word essays on Nazi war-crimes and Victorian poetry. So I have been pretty tired and started getting the two mixed up with... strange results. Anyway, you aren't hear to listen to someone else whine. That's what twitter is for.

I'm sorry the story is taking a while to warm up but don't worry. I **do** have a plan. Expect chapter 7 during the weekend. Finally, I know there is a big difference in tone between the sections with Alek and Deryn and the ones with Lilit. For the most part, I wanted to preserve some of the Leviathan's original style and sense of humour but I'm having too much fun writing as Lilit to give up now. And yeah, I am pretty sick like that. I might need to bump up the rating at this rate.

* * *

Part 6

"Please look away, gentlemen. This is hardly a ladylike moment."  
The rest of the party dutifully turned as Dr Barlow crawled out of the trunk Captain Hobbes had allowed them to bring. Alek still had no idea what that woman was thinking but she had been quite insistent and with Volger unusually nonchalant on the matter, they had been coerced into smuggling her back to Britain.  
"You all right, ma'am?"  
The lady fabricator dusted herself off and stood up straight. She shot an angry look at Volger.  
"You could have been a little gentler with the winch."  
He smiled.  
"I didn't want it to appear suspicious. And I expected slightly more elegance on the planning side. Hiding in a piece of luggage is a little," he paused, searching for the right word, "cliché."  
Dr Barlow's Loris made an annoyed noise but the lady fabricator smiled.  
"Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best."  
The two of them might have kept at it for a while longer but a group of seven was going to be an easy target for any German reconnaissance planes as Klopp pointed out.  
"Let's keep moving."  
The trunk was abandoned, the wireless set and pile of supplies divided up and the party began to move east. Twenty miles was just the width of a fingernail on a map but over the rocky hill-scape, it was going to be tricky.

It had been a long day. It would be so much easier if Lothar didn't insist on flying like a complete lunatic. Perhaps it was just residual envy on the part of his younger brother's uncanny capacity to recover from even the most grievous of wounds in a matter of weeks. For months now, Manfred had been stuck behind a desk. Whenever one of his men or Lothar asked him, he would laugh and joke about all the women who have fallen for his eye patch and his Iron Cross, both a product of that ill fated mission over the Swiss Alps. They humoured him, pointing out the lack of such women in this remote airbase, pretending they did not see the pain in his eyes as he saw the agile L9 Sparrow Hawks trace tight loops in the clear desert skies. It was a stupid game, from the viewpoint of an outsider, but one the unit had played for ever. It helped but it could never erase the uncontrollable jealousy, hatred almost, that he felt whenever he saw his brother in the cockpit. The feeling was disgusted him but nothing could prevent it. Manfred sighed. It had been a long day. The desk job did have perks and however meagre the comfort was, Manfred was still glad for the quiet and privacy of his own house, set away from the barracks and the runway. The door was ajar as always, allowing in the cool night air. He pushed it fully open and entered, one hand groping for matches. Only the workshops and the landing strip had electriks, the living quarters used gas lights. He thought he had a box by the door but where...?  
Out of nowhere, a hand gripped his wrist. He let out an involuntary cry that was muffled instantly by his assailant. He bucked and the grip slipped. Some instinctual part of his brain roared into action. He caught the man's hand and threw him bodily over his shoulder. It was not as elegant as he had hoped. The figure sprawled on the hard sandstone and Manfred's grasping hands found his holster.  
"What in god's name?"  
The room was suddenly filled with light. Someone stood in the doorway, a lamp held in one hand. Manfred made for his pistol but then realised the fallen man's outstretched arm held a sword point to his throat. The man in the doorway lowered his lamp. It was Lothar. His younger brother stared at the two men in understandable confusion. Then a cold, familiar voice came from deeper in the house.  
"I suppose you two are Richthofen's boys."  
From the doorway into the kitchen, a tall, vaguely familiar form appeared his eyes catlike in the darkness. Manfred narrowed his eye, squinting in the darkness.  
"Volger?"  
"The very same."  
"Goddamn it man! Can't you just leave a note or something?"  
"Unless it has escaped your notice, we are not the most fashionable of houseguests. Hoffman, get up."  
The shadow on the floor sheathed his sword with a metallic grating noise and disappeared into the living area. Lothar followed with his lantern and Manfred went with him. If he had not owed the count a significant favour over a certain incident with the daughter of Austrian ambassador, he would have shot "Hoffman" there and then. But he holstered the pistol and stepped through the door. Volger was seated in his favourite wicker chair. Three other men and two boys had spread themselves across the sparse furniture and a woman was seated on his desk.  
"I got that bulletin. Seems like I could just turn you in and live the rest of my life in comfort and dignity."  
The corners of Volger's mouth twitched.  
"I have a better offer."  
"I don't know. Is it in gold bullion or just a Swiss bank account?"  
For some reason, the wild count laughed and a boy, the dark haired one, looked down at his boots sheepishly.  
"A new eye."  
It was the woman of the group, a middle aged brunette with unreadable dark eyes and, of all things, a bowler hat.  
"A new eye?"  
He claimed the eye patch won him women (not untrue) but the damn thing also stood between him and a return to piloting.  
"Of course."  
She spoke German very well but her accent betrayed her.  
"And why does a British fabricator want from me?"  
"We need passage to London. In return, I will find you a doctor willing to replace your eye."  
Lothar exchanged glances with his brother.  
"You can do that?"  
The other boy, the blonde one, spoke up. His German was far less fluent than the woman but he made up for it with enthusiasm.  
"Of course you can! I had my arm done two years ago!"  
"What!"  
The other boy looked at his fellows arm in horror.  
"That isn't your arm?"  
"Of course it's mine! It's just not the one I was born with."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well, when I was ten, I made the mistake of wrapping a landing rope around my arm instead of just holding it. So when the balloon inflated, the rope went taunt and snapped my forearm. It was really nasty, all shattered. So instead of waiting for it to heal naturally, the doctor used my lifethread to grow a new one and he grafted it on. Took three days of waiting for it to grow and then a half an hour operation. Easiest thing in the world!"  
The dark haired boy looked like he was going to be sick. Manfred did not feel too confident about the procedure either. The Darwinists were a sick bunch all round but he trusted Volger and the hope of flying again was too much.  
"You can do that?"  
The woman nodded.  
"It's a common enough battlefield procedure and probably the only reason our infantry can hope to take on yours."  
That was true. The British infantry equipment and training was woeful compared to their German counterparts. But if the Darwinists could recover from crippling wounds in mere days, it explained why they had so much trouble with them.  
"And you won't mess with my..." he struggled for the right word, "...lifethread?"  
"No! We just use your normal one. The cells in your body are replaced every relatively often so its just a matter of isolating the right ones, forming a colony, accelerating its growth with specific hormones and then grafting it on."  
Lothar made as if to say something but Manfred cut him off.  
"Volger? You trust these Darwinists?"  
The count nodded.  
"All right then. Lothar? We need to prep a Z-22. Cargo, so Command doesn't make a fuss about passports."  
His younger brother tried to speak once more but Manfred had one final thing to say.  
"And Lothar, you'll be the pilot."  
"What!"  
"That's an order, soldier."  
"So now you're pulling rank?"  
"I've been pulling rank since I was four years old. You should get used to it."  
The British woman turned to Volger as the two Richthofens argued.  
"Are you sure about this?"  
The count laughed.  
"I am sure."

* * *

The Germans had widened Istanbul's sewers as part of their Mekanzimat program five years ago. She could see their hateful mechanical eagle glare at her from each brick in the wall, each door and manhole. The things were everywhere, staring, watching, waiting. She closed her eyes and slid down the damp brick wall to the floor, unable to bear their empty eyes a moment longer. But her imagination filled her exhausted brain with more eagles. The iron belly of a walker, the armour plates of the Sultan's new war elephants, the metal girders of a huge wireless tower wreathed in dancing flames, the cuirass of a dying German soldier, a dirty gold bar held by a smiling boy...  
Her brown eyes flew open. Amplified by the strange acoustics of the tunnel, indistinct voices drifted down the sewer. Her left ear was a mass of congealed blood so she twisted, searching for the direction of the noise. It was on her right.  
With a heavy low moan, she pulled herself to her feet. Her stomach had stopped bleeding but she had been feeling feverish. Moving tore at her clotted side and she winced, almost allowing herself to slide back to the floor. But the voices were getting nearer. In the distance, she saw a flash of white light like an electrik torch. Gritting her teeth, she stood. Warm blood began to seep through her ruined jacket and she gasped with pain. The torch danced nearer and panic began to overtake her other senses. She staggered onwards, her piloting slippers flapping as she blundered through the semi darkness. The torch seemed to stop. She did not dare check. Moving was bad enough. The blood on her fingers was congealing into a sticky mess. Good. That meant it would soon stop bleeding. She hazarded a look over her shoulder. The man with the torch was crouched down, shining his torch on the floor. In the bright white light, she saw what he was examining: a bloody smear on the wall where she had almost collapsed. He stood and shouted something. In German! Someone in the darkness answered and she could hear running feet. Suddenly the adrenaline was gone, replaced by cold paralysing fear. She could not run or move or even think. They had found her. The electrik torch flicked past her, illuminating her for a moment in a harsh white light. Somehow, the light snapped her out of her reverie. An intake pipe, much smaller than the main sewer sat on her left. She fell into it, crawling through the filthy water, desperate to avoid the dancing light. She could hear the man shouting. Had he noticed her? Running feet. The light danced past her hiding space. In her curled up position, she felt something hard in her jacket. It was the pistol she had taken off a German soldier two nights ago, just after the destruction of her walker. It felt good in her hand. She held it in her left, not willing to pull her right away from the clotting wound. She could hear her own panicked breathing and she tried desperately to hide it. Seconds passed, she sucked air through clenched teeth. The footsteps had slowed.  
A figure appeared in her field of vision, holding a rifle. He did not seem to notice the intake pipe. She pointed the pistol and squeezed the trigger.  
The trigger would not move. Was it gummed up with blood? She should have checked it or at least wrapped it in a clean piece of her shirt. She tried to scrape away some of the congealed blood, one of her fingernails breaking as they clawed at the metal. Then one of her fingers felt a switch on the side, just above the trigger guard. The safety! For some strange reason, she found it very funny. Perhaps it was just the stress of the past few weeks showing through. She let out a shrill laugh.  
The figure jumped at the noise and turned, his head ducking to peer into the pipe. That horrible eagle stared at her from his helmet.  
She flicked the safety off and fired three times into the man's surprised face. The pistol exploded, the muzzle flash blinding her, the gunshots almost deafening her. She blinked away the purple flash and looked down at the dead soldier. She had blown a hole in his helmet, straight through that accusing eagle and into his head. That felt good. The man's body slid backwards out the pipe. As if far away, she heard the anguished cry of the man's partner. That felt good too.

* * *

Thank you for the reviews. If any of you are interested in proof reading or a similar advisory position, feel free to say something. I need someone to bounce ideas off. Even if you don't feel like doing something like that, please review anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

As promised, here is Chapter 7. Its pretty long and focused mainly on Alek and Deryn. Its probably the strangest mix of comedy and serious so far. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, especially Music Antoinette who seems to be responsible for about half of them.

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Part 7

"Daddy!"  
He was barely able to throw his briefcase at the waiting servant before the girl leapt into his arms. He picked her up and she giggled happily as he held her.  
"Hello, mein kleinengel."  
She flicked at a raindrop that was still trickling down his overcoat, leaving a line of tiny droplets in its wake. Her little hands found an opening in his buttons and burrowed her head into the layers of warm wool beneath. He laughed.  
"Really Liesl, you look like a mole."  
She pulled her head out and gazed at him with her inquisitive blue eyes.  
"A mole?"  
"Yes. A mole. You like to burrow into things, don't you?"  
She shook her head so hard her plaits swung.  
"I don't burrow. I'm an eagle!"  
She spread out her arms to demonstrate and her father laughed again.  
"I suppose eagles are nicer looking than moles."  
He looked up and saw his wife, Ilse, descending the stairs after her runaway daughter.  
"Though not as nice looking as your mother. Or you."  
He kissed her on the forehead. She was busy playing with his jacket's buttons. They were big and brass and had the Imperial Eagle stamped on them.  
Ilse smiled faintly as she saw little Liesl in her father's arms.  
"Back so soon? I thought Brandenburg was a weeklong conference."  
"It fell apart after two days. von Heste got what was coming to him. Still..."  
He was about to say something more but his wife shook her head and pointed at Liesl's back. Her husband nodded and set her down.  
"All right, mein kleinengel. I think it is a little late for you to be running around. Go wash up and get in bed. I will read you something in ten minutes."  
The girl nodded eagerly and began to run up the stairs as fast as her little legs would take her. Her somewhat haggard governess followed her, a hand outstretched in case she slipped.  
He watched her go, the smile lingering on his face. Ilse stood next to him and he embraced her.  
"You didn't answer my telephone call. I called you as soon as I reached the Lehrter Bahnhof."  
"You know I hate that beastly device. I had Grobber disconnect it."  
"I'll have him reco..."  
"And I'll just tell him to disconnect it again."  
The man sighed but his eyes smiled.  
"Just don't tell me I don't try."  
"I would never."  
She smiled and he returned it. Then Liesl's door slammed and her expression hardened.  
"What happened with von Heste?"  
"He did not seem too pleased with the military reforms. Then I mentioned we should start demobilising the conscript divisions and he threw a tantrum that would rival Liesl on vaccination day."  
Her expression remained stony but her eyes softened a little.  
"That bad?"  
"Yeah. The Kaiser seems to have warmed to the Society's proposal though he insists on using Fredrick's plan."  
"Well, he was awfully close to his father."  
She sighed.  
"Do you think he will go through with it though?"  
"It will not be easy. And now the Military is losing its political clout, they are going to lash out."  
"I'm glad I married the one man in the Empire willing to make an enemy out of the best armed group of testosterone fuelled psychopaths in the world."  
"And I'm glad I married the only woman in the Empire willing to make light of her husband's imminent assassination."  
"I was being serious!"  
"So was I."  
They were quiet for a long moment.  
"Daddy!"  
He looked up the stairwell and saw Liesl standing at the top in her nightie.  
"Yes, mein kleinengel?"  
"You promised you would read to me."  
"Of course I did."  
He pulled off his coat and handed it to a servant, who was still clutching his briefcase. With the heavy overcoat discarded, he began to climb the stairs, exchanging only a passing glance with his frowning wife.

* * *

Clanker airships were very different from the Leviathan. While everything on a hydrogen breather was made from fabricated balsa or hemp, Clanker airships were made from aluminium and lightened steel. Everything had a metallic feel to it, from the bare aluminium walls to the harsh glare of the electrik lights. Deryn twisted on the bundle of blankets they had been given. Even Clanker wool lacked the softness of its fabricated counterpart and it made her itch terribly. Alek had no problem. He was curled up in his nest of blankets like a baby cat, Bovril mirroring his master's position inside his own bundle. She wanted to throw the woollen things away but it was barking cold at this altitude without the warmth of a living airbeast.  
As she tossed and turned, she felt a pair of eyes on her back. Turning, she saw the Clanker, the older one with the eye patch, looking at her. She caught his eye and he started.  
"I'm sorry."  
He spoke in halting English.  
"That's all right. Don't you get cold up here?"  
"Sometimes. In an aeroplane the engine is almost on top of you so it does not get too cold."  
"So you fly aeroplanes."  
"I did, for a while."  
His eyes were distant.  
"Have you ever flown before? I mean properly, not on an airship."  
"On a Huxley, a few times."  
"A Huxley?"  
"Oh it's a type of jellyfish."  
He stared uncomprehending.  
"That is... Its an airbeast."  
"Oh."  
There was an uncomfortable silence before the German airman regained the flow of his thoughts.  
"Do you enjoy flying?"  
Deryn smiled and her expression took on the same faintly dreamy quality as the Clanker.  
"More than anything in the world."  
"It is wonderful, is it not? The freedom, the wind, knowing you are three hundred metres up with only your own wits and bucket of bolts and kerosene."  
Deryn nodded. She had never flown anything other than hot air balloons and hydrogen breathers. She wondered what heavier-than-air craft would be like. Much faster than airships certainly.  
She smiled faintly.  
"I have only flown hydrogen breathers, so I wouldn't know."  
"Ah."  
The Clanker's expression had darkened when she said "hydrogen breather". Deryn was seized by a sudden curiosity about who this man was and why he wore an eye patch and spoke of flying with genuine passion yet never appeared in the airship's cockpit.  
"Did you get hurt? Fighting one of them? I mean, is that why you can't fly?"  
As soon as she said it, she regretted it. Was she being too nosy? But the Clanker just laughed though it was a bitter thing.  
"Yes. I fought hydrogen breathers. Shot down a fair share. But I lost my eye over the Alps. You see, there was this large hydrogen breather, quite famous, called the Leviathan. You must have heard of it, being in the airservice. It was carrying saboteurs for attacks on our Ottoman allies so we were ordered to intercept them. Britain had declared war on Germany only a few hours before and we had hoped the crew would surrender quickly but they refused. So we attacked. Lost a lot of good men. Brave men. Young Dietrich's plane was burning and his co-pilot was dead and he still tried to finish his mission and avenge his comrades. We gave him the Iron Cross for that. His father wept when we presented it to him."  
The Clanker paused, his voice wavering for a moment. Deryn had curled up into a ball. She remembered how the last plane had dive bombed the Leviathan in a last ditch attempt to destroy it. She suddenly felt guilty for the relief she had felt when the airguns had ripped the aeroplane apart. She was glad she had survived and that was all right but somewhere, deep down, she had felt some terrible pleasure in seeing the plane crumple and fall and watching the black twisting form of the pilot as he tumbled into the abyss. She shuddered.  
The Clanker continued.  
"My plane was hit by these little bird like creatures but they must have had razor sharp beaks because they blew my transmission and took out a chunk of the gearbox too. I caught a broken fragment to the face which took out my left eye. The next thing I knew, I was on the glacier with my parachute deployed. I think Holt did that, he was my co-pilot. Since I was unconscious, I don't know what happened to him but Lothar said my plane broke up just after my chute deployed. It's unlikely Holt had a chance. We never found him."  
He held out medal. It was a black fluted cross with silver lining. It said something in Clanker but the writing was funny and she was too tired to try and decipher it.  
"Iron Cross, Second Class. Holt got one too and Dietrich got a First Class."  
He laughed bitterly.  
"Dietrich had always said he would get an Iron Cross before he was twenty one. We never thought he would..."  
His words faded and he replaced the medal into his pocket. Deryn watched him with wide eyes. He looked at her directly for the first time since he had started talking about the attack on the Leviathan.  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."  
"No," Deryn whispered, "You've just given me a bit to think about."  
"I am glad. They deserve at least that much."  
The Clanker settled himself against a pile of crates and pulled a blanket over himself. He seemed to be able to rest easier now he had talked about it. But Deryn had no-one to confess her worries to. As the rest of the zeppelin's occupants settled down to sleep, she stared at the textured metal floor and tried to keep the bad thoughts away.

* * *

Alek had never seen a Darwinist city. Now he was wondering if he ever would. The place was covered with a thick smog covered the city, spewed from hundreds of German walkers which crowded the streets. There was not a single beast in sight but in the larger parks ominous bonfires burnt with a greasy smoke that smelled faintly of burnt meat. Alek shuddered. He remembered his tutors speaking about the plagues of the Dark Ages, when corpses were burnt in the streets in an effort to prevent the disease from spreading. It was a horrible thought and Alek tried to block it out.  
"Fritz!"  
Bauer hissed at him. Alek started and realised he had almost walked into a crowd of German soldiers. Dylan grabbed his arm and steered him gently away from the soldiers, careful not to draw their attention. Volger glared at him, his patience obviously wearing thin. With Dr Barlow taking von Richthofen up to her old laboratory at Oxford to get his eye rebuilt (Alek felt mildly sick at the idea of some eyeball growing on a glass plate), they were marooned in London for almost a week. Dr Barlow had a town house they could hide in but getting there involved navigating the capital's public transport network.  
It was not going well.  
Much of the original network had collapsed when the beasts required to run them had died (no-one seemed to have any idea why) and what little parts of it the Germans had managed to retrofit with diesel engines were crawling with soldiers.  
As Dylan pulled Alek through the crowded terminal towards the exit, someone bumped him. Alek was about to say something rude but was reminded of Lienz and kept his peace. The man barely seemed to notice. Alek silently cursed all impolite, illiterate and unwashed people.  
They were within walking distance of Dr Barlow's town house. They had to rely on the lady fabricator's instructions as Dylan did not recognise the area. He claimed it was "too barking posh" considering he had spent his time in London in a "shoe-box sized hole with that stank of horse clart" to the extent that "we were afraid of lighting a match in case we ignited the methane".  
To Alek, it looked like a quiet row of neat white houses with small, well kept gardens and simple plaster facades. The eleventh house down was slightly worse for wear. The garden was becoming overgrown and the upper windows needed cleaning. It was to this property that Dr Barlow had instructed them.  
The insides were neat but dusty. The drawing room looked like it had not been entered for months and only one of the bedrooms was properly dusted. The entire place had a feel of neglect.

* * *

A glint caught Deryn's eye. She was in the drawing room, reading a book on airbeasts from the boffin's library, the only room that managed to look well maintained. She put aside the volume and searched for the source. There! There was something in the wastepaper basket. Deryn reached her hand in and was rewarded with a flare of pain. Bringing her hand out sharply, she found a shard of glass in her finger. She pulled the shard out and sucked the finger, tasting her blood's salty tang. Peering into the basket, she saw a broken picture frame. Curiosity getting the better of her, she pulled the metal frame gingerly out, careful to avoid its smashed face. It was of three people, all wearing bowler hats. One was a smiling Dr Barlow, her arms around the other two. One was a rather handsome man with blonde hair and an easy smile. The other was a woman with damp, dark hair and a tired but happy expression. Deryn noticed that despite her bowler, she was dressed in a hospital gown. In her arms was a tiny little thing with its hands outstretched towards its mothers face. On the frame it said:  
"Isabelle Curling, Born 8th June 1906."  
Deryn suddenly felt very sick.  
"Dylan!"  
She dropped the photograph in surprise and it fell back into the basket. Alek was in the doorway, holding something.  
"Dylan. I found this in my pocket."  
Deryn took the outstretched piece of paper.

"The Red Indian, Whitechapel, 12 tonight. A friend."

Deryn looked at Alek.  
"You found this in your pocket?"  
"Someone must have put it there when we were walking here."  
"But it has to be a trap!"  
"I don't think so. The Germans could have arrested me dozens of times on our way here. Also, they would not risk warning me so obviously that they know where I am. I don't think it is the Germans. Perhaps it is another member of the Society."  
"The Society?"  
"Volger was just telling me about it. Apparently my father set up this group devoted to the promotion of democracy inside of Germany and Austria-Hungary. It was how Volger knew von Richthofen. Its called the Solon Society, after the Greek..."  
Deryn's blank expression ended Alek's classical explanation before it could begin.  
"Anyway, I think we should go to this "Red Indian"."  
"Really?"  
Alek nodded.  
"If there is a group inside of Germany that is committed to my father's cause, I can help them. I am their heir to Austria-Hungary after all."  
Deryn shook her head. Why couldn't he just keep his head down once in a while? But then again, if Alek had kept his head down in Switzerland, the Leviathan would have been captured and Deryn would be lying in the snow with a German bullet in her head.  
"What have the others said?"  
"Klopp refuses to come but Bauer will and we'll need Volger to explain it all."  
"All right. I'll tag along in case you get lost. Spent most of my time in London around Whitechapel."

* * *

The Red Indian was a scruffy looking place which had secreted itself at the end of a long thin alleyway. It was a "pub" which seemed to be the equivalent of a beer hall which meant there might be soldiers. But from the murderous looks the locals gave Alek and his Clanker comrades, soldiers would probably avoid the area. Dylan led them deftly through the streams of ruddy faced women and dirt streaked workers towards the crowded entrance. As they stepped in, a young boy with a mess of curly black hair stood up.  
"Yer 'ere for Mister Rosencrantz?"  
Alek had no idea what the boy had just said but Dylan seemed to understand.  
"Who's Rosencrantz?"  
"Clanker gentleman. Said he was lookin' for yer type."  
"What?"  
"Yer know. Clanker types and a British airman too."  
Dylan looked slightly alarmed.  
"An airman?"  
"Well, are ya?"  
He nodded.  
"Yeah, I suppose I am. Where can we find Mr Rosencrantz?"  
"Room numba' nine."  
He stayed in front of them, his eyes expectant.  
"He said yer would give me a shillin'."  
Alek dug into his pocket and threw him a coin. The boy caught it deftly and bowed theatricly as they passed.  
"Thank yer, gentlemen."

The upper floors held rooms, though Alek could not fathom their purpose. A drunk man in a waistcoat staggered out of one, his face flushed. A woman followed him and she looked at Alek.  
"You're a bit young, aren't you?"  
Alek looked at her confused. Volger stepped in front of him and the woman turned to him.  
"How about you, honey?"  
"No thank you. I have some other business to attend to."  
The woman looked at Volger then turned to Alek. Her eyes widened.  
"Christ! That kid is only like fifteen!"  
Volger's own eyes widened.  
"What are you implying, Madame?"  
She shuddered and walked away. Bauer seemed to be in hysterics and Volger watched her go with a mix of disgust and anger. Alek looked at them both.  
"What was that about?"  
Volger flashed him a warning look and Alek dropped the matter.  
Room nine was at the very end of the corridor. Volger pushed on the door but it wouldn't budge. There was the rattle of a chain and the door opened a little. An eye peered at them through the gap and then the door swung open. Despite his fashionable evening suit and the absence of his usual companion, Alek knew the man immediately.

It was Eddie Malone.

* * *

How many of you got the Rosencrantz hint? Anyway, that was a fun chapter to write. A bit long but I just couldn't bring myself to cut any part of it out.

And remember: REVIEW!


	8. Chapter 8

Hi everyone!

Sorry this "midweek" update came a little late but GCSE technology came in the way and I needed to make up for two terms of procrastination and general idleness. : (  
Reflecting my mood, this update is more than a little depressing and weird. Still, hope you enjoy it! Expect Eddie Malone goodness over the weekend.

And finally: A VERY BIG thanks to my proof reader and general sage: ByStarlight999 who helped me with the more surreal parts.

* * *

"Today, the Kaiser signed Executive Order 6024, indefinitely extending the National State of Emergency declared when war was declared against Russia in the summer. This means the conscript divisions will not be disbanded as was previously thought and the rationing of foodstuffs and kerosene will continue. The Minister of the Exterior had this to say:  
'Germany has proved itself to be the greatest of the European powers but with that power comes responsibility. The previously Darwinist nations look to us for inspiration in their search for mekanical enlightenment. The Military is at the heart of this enlightenment. The Kaiser has said that anyone claiming differently is at best a fool and at worst a traitor...'"  
The Minister of the Interior switched off the radio set with shaking hands. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a little bottle of black pills. He attempted to unscrew them but felt a hand on his wrist. It was Ilse.  
"You promised Liesl."  
He gave a disgusted sigh and threw the pills against his office's wood panelling. The thick glass bottle broke and the tiny black tablets scattered across the hard wood floor.  
He could not bear it. Not after he had failed them so badly.  
He tried to look up but the concern in her eyes shamed him. He had been so sure. So sure that he could persuade the Kaiser to adopt the Society's plans. So sure that it was all going to work out. So sure that Liesl would one day have a reason to be proud of her father. Now he had dragged them all into a deadly duel against the military, one he knew he could not win. A low whisper left his lips.  
"Please, Ilse..."  
The whisper faltered and then died. The man stared at the floorboards, his grey eyes clouded over. Then he spoke again, with some of his old strength returning.  
"I need you to leave Germany."  
Isle stood her ground.  
"I am not leaving you."  
The man finally looked at her, his normally unreadable grey eyes red and filled with pain.  
"Please, Ilse, it isn't safe."  
She met his gaze with her own dark blue, concern etching deep lines along her brow. The woman moved to embrace him but he recoiled from her touch as if struck.  
"Please, Ilse. They will hurt you. You and Liesl."  
Her mouth opened slightly but she closed it firmly and a touch of cold steel entered her eyes.  
"The military doesn't scare me."  
"Well it bloody well should!"  
Ilse eyes widened and she began to shake her head.  
"Don't shake your head! Von Heste and the rest of those bastards are going to come after me."  
Ilse mouthed something but her husband was worked into a fury.  
"You heard what the Kaiser said! I am a traitor and once they find out my connection with the Solon Society, I am going to hang, Ilse. And you know what happens to the families of traitors. Do you think Liesl can have her pretty dolls and dresses when you're both in the poorhouse? How are you...?"  
He stopped. In the silence, he could hear sobbing. He looked behind him and saw Liesl standing in the door, her little arms wrapped around a Steiff Bear. Her eyes were brimming with tears.  
"Daddy..."  
Heavy sobs wracked her tiny form and fat tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her nightie.  
"They aren't going to hang you are they?"  
He ran to her and she grasped at him almost desperately.  
"Daddy, I don't want them to hurt you."  
The man was almost in tears himself. He held Liesl to him and fought to prevent her from feeling his own sobs.  
"Don't worry Liesl. No-one is going to hurt me."  
"But you said! You said they were going to hang you and put mummy and me in the poorhouse."  
"I didn't mean it, Liesl. It's going to be... It going to be all right."  
They held each other for a long time. At last, she hiccupped a little and stopped shaking. He let go and she stepped back slightly into the warm light of the hallway. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with puffy red. The man was reminded of times when she had bad dreams and he would go to her room and hold her until she fell back asleep. But that terror was only imaginary. She would not wake up from this one.  
"It's all going to be... all right?"  
She repeated his phrase with a waiver. He responded heavily.  
"Yes. Everything is going to be all right, Liesl."  
The girl held the Steiff Bear tightly as if compensating for the loss of her father's embrace.  
"All right."  
She agreed quietly, nodding slowly. The man stood, patting her blonde head.  
"Would you like me to read to you?"  
A faint smile flitted across her face.  
"I would like that, Daddy."  
He took her hand and led her from the study.  
Ilse watched them go and almost let a bitter laugh escape her. But instead she knelt down and began to pick up the tiny black pills lying on the floor and dump them in the incineration chute built into the study's oak desk.

* * *

Hauptmann Hans Israel turned away from his men, worried they would see his hesitation. They needed guidance goddamn it! And where were they going to get it if their commander was moping around like an utter Dummkopf? He was about to avenge dozens, if not hundreds of German lives and finally get promoted off of the front lines. So why was he being so damn sentimental about it? He was definitely not the only one with misgivings about the mission. He knew for a fact that Sergeant Fabier had a daughter about the girl's age. Yet he was still able to give clear headed orders, sealing the manholes with plaster and setting up the canisters.  
It might have been easier if they were just killing her. That could be done impersonal: a hand grenade around a corner, a gunshot to the back. But Command wanted her alive. And that meant using Albtraumgas.

Albtraumgas is the most famous German weapon in the relatively new field of psychological warfare. It has been used as a chemical weapon against certain war beasts, a non lethal way of incapacitating important individuals, an interrogation tool and even a training exercise. Simply put, it is a potent hallucinogen and brain stimulant. As the brain is stimulated, it starts producing hallucinations. The mind has a natural inclination to promote bad thoughts above good ones and the stimulant prevents the conscience part of the brain over ruling the subconscious. As the mind creates unpleasant hallucinations, the subconscious begins exploring other memories and such that are associated with it. The hallucinations get worse and worse, occasionally ending in a psychotic break. Before the war, all military recruits were subjected to two twenty minute exposures of the drug as psychological training.  
One recruit described it as:  
"Twenty minutes, trapped in a tiny room with your own worst nightmares. It was hell. Worse than the perpetual exhaustion of the physical training or the blood tinged confusion of actual battle. When I first entered the room, padded we wouldn't hurt ourselves, I was confident he could survive whatever they could throw at me. But it wasn't them. It was me. My own mind attempting to drive itself insane, plumbing itself to find every horror, every personal or instinctual disgust or revulsion to use as ammunition against its own sanity. But it did not stop there. Every bad memory would be relived in vivid detail. Every good one would be warped and twisted until I screamed at them to stop. The ghosts of my failures would rise to mock me and the empty shells of my successes would watch on in horrible silence."

It was horrible stuff and he was about to subject a sixteen year old girl to it? Sergeant Fabier gave him an odd look.  
"Are you all right sir?"  
The Captain pulled him aside and replied in a low whisper.  
"No, since your asking."  
The Sergeant looked sympathetic but said:  
"We have to do it."  
"Don't you have a daughter her age?"  
The Sergeant's expression became suddenly cold.  
"And?"  
"Don't you see..."  
"No, sir, I do not. There is no similarity whatsoever between my Greta and_ that..._." he struggled to find a word for her. Most men called her "der Dämon Armenischen".  
"I didn't say they were similar but..."  
"Listen, sir. When I left Dresden, Greta came to me and asked why I was leaving. I told her I was leaving to make the world a better place. I promised her that I would do whatever I had to do for the sake of that better place. And if someone stands in my way, I will destroy them. It is really that simple."  
Israel looked into his Sergeant's eyes. He had never asked why the man had gone to war or for whom he fought. Now he knew, he felt his own motivations were small and selfish. He had joined the military academy for the money and fame it promised. Sure, his father had got all teary about proving their allegiance to the fatherland but that was only because he got some abuse at work for being a Hebrew. Hans had joined out of personal reasons, not religious ones. He sighed. Perhaps he was not the most inspiring leader but he got the job done. Today would be no exception.  
"All right, Sergeant." The Captain pulled on his gasmask. He played with a dial on the side and it clicked. Satisfied, he spoke and his voice came out tinny through the speakers.  
"We'll start releasing the gas in ten. Prep the men. We have a mission to complete."

* * *

What was that?

The girl looked up. There was something there, hiding in the outskirts of her vision. She could sense it. Careful not to tear her wound, she crawled forward. There! It moved, dashing across her vision; Too quickly to render clearly, but she had an idea of where it was. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out an electric torch. Pointing it in the direction of the thing, she counted to five and turned it on.  
It was a spider.  
Only a spider. The girl almost laughed. She didn't mind spiders. Not one bit. She spent weeks with the creature's mechanical counterpart, printing anti-German propaganda. She knew some people who hated spiders though- a Greek boy with whom she had shared a short-lived romance had been terrified of the things. Called it a "phobia". Lilit didn't have one. Unless you counted maggots.  
_Maggots... Maggots..._  
Was that buzzing? She looked around. Suddenly, she could hear a buzzing, faint now but it was growing stronger. She turned the electric torch back on. A few feet away, bobbing on the sewers stream, was a hunk of meat. A cloud of fat flies followed it. The thing was being dragged closer and she realized that the white specks were not fat. They were maggots. The ugly little worms crawled over each other, their horrible black heads groping blindly as they squirmed and wiggled in a revolting pile of pallid flesh.  
She muffled a scream. The maggots turned to her, their black heads twisting in unison. Then they began to crawl towards her, plopping one by one into the black water. On the ledge overlooking the flow, a black head pulled itself over. Lilit stared at it in horror. Suddenly the entire edge was covered in the little monsters, squirming towards her, their white bodies crawling over each other in their eagerness.  
The first reached her toes and began to move up her boots. She kicked and the thing burst with a sick pop, greenish slime oozing from its split skin. More came, more than she could handle. She twisted and turned, trying to brush them off but there were thousands of the things. They crawled up towards her face and she screamed. She felt the worms on her lips and she tired to close her mouth but they were already inside, their thick, fleshy forms invading her mouth, her throat.  
Her body was covered with them, her limbs disappearing beneath a layer of the squirming worms. A black head appeared over her left eye, its head cocked as if pondering what to do next. Then it plunged into her eyeball, its tiny jaws opened wide...

"Lilit!"  
She awoke suddenly, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. Her father stood over her, concern in his brown eyes.  
"Are you all right?"  
" Yes," she realised her voice was quavering and steadied it. "I'm fine."  
She was lying on a picnic blanket in the olive grove they used to go to. It had wonderful views of the city and the Aegean. She smiled.  
"Just a bad dream."  
"Well, I am glad you're all right, Lilit." her mother said. She poured a cup of tea and handed it to her.  
"You shouldn't worry so much about me, Mother. It was just a bad dream."  
"When did you fall asleep?"  
She suddenly realized her head was in someone's lap.  
"Dylan?"  
The boy smiled.  
"You gave me a bit of a start back there. Thrashing around and all that."  
"I'm sorry."  
"That's quite all right."  
Their lips touched.  
"Lilit. Find someplace more private," Nene croaked from her wheelchair.  
"Yes, let's."  
Dylan pulled her to her feet.  
"There's this little cove over here."  
He pulled her through the olive trees until they reached a secluded spot atop some cliffs overlooking the sea. He turned to her, his sandy blonde hair catching the breeze.  
"Lilit, I've been thinking. I have an airship leaving tomorrow. We can fly, free and together forever and ever. I want you, Lilit."  
He moved forward, pressing his body against her. She felt the warmth of his body, the intimacy of his embrace. She moved to kiss him.  
A distant explosion grabbed her attention. She looked up and saw flames over Istanbul. Huge shapes floated over the domes and spires, raining high explosives on the hapless city. The Iron Cross glinted from their tail fins.  
"Dylan! The Germans have..."  
But the boy was gone. The cove was empty. Lilit tore up the slope towards the grove. Trees and brambles tore at her clothes and gouged her skin. Blood pounded in her ears, the rumble of the explosions shaking her to the bone. At last, she broke free and stumbled into the clearing.  
"Lilit."  
It was her mother. Hanging from a crude wooden gallows. Her hands were tied but her feet kicked desperately. Her face was blue but still she manages to whisper.  
"Please help me, Lilit."  
She ran to the gallows but a line of impassive soldiers in German uniforms blocked her path. She beat at their armour with her ten-year-old's fists but they looked on in silence as her mother's kicking legs fell still.  
"Lilit."  
Nene was on her clockwork bed, foaming at the mouth. Her empty cyanide capsule lay in her hand.  
"Run." she said, the poison slurring her words. Lilit grabbed her hand.  
"I can't leave you, Nene!"  
There were gunshots downstairs, the last of the Committee's engineers fighting a desperate last stand against the Germans. Nene gave her a final meaningful stare.  
"The Committee needs you." Lilit gave her grandmother a desperate hug and then leaped off the balcony onto the roof of the warehouse, just as the door was forced open.  
Except she landed on a picnic blanket in the middle of an olive grove. She could see Zaven sipping tea, his back turned.  
"Father?"  
He turned and Lilit stepped back. His face was red and raw, burnt by the countless volts that had coursed through his walker. His eyes were blank and horribly white against the red, ruined flesh around them.  
"Why do you step back, daughter? You helped me do it, after all."  
Lilit ran. Away down the hill. She stumbled and when she looked up, she saw Dylan. But he wasn't the same. He wore a gaudy dress and had a thick layer of makeup on his face, like one of the prostitutes in the seedier ghettos. He looked at her and spoke, his voice obscenely high.  
"Hello Lilit."  
Alek appeared and coiled his arm around the boy. He turned and kissed Alek. Lilit stared in horror. Alek laughed and spoke in a tone of mock sincerity.  
"Come on now Lilit. I'm sure you realized you can't compete with a prince. You're just a tool for me to win the war. And I see you can't even do that right."  
He pushed her and she fell backwards. Except she didn't stop. She just kept on falling...  
A face looked over her. It wore a heavy gas mask but she could tell it was Zaven. Not the burnt, accusing thing from the olive grove but her real father who would take her in her arms and whisper in her ear, telling her everything was going to be all right. She embraced him, tears coming unbidden. He seemed surprised and tried to push her off but she wouldn't let go. She would never let go of him again. She felt someone slide something over her nose. It smelt sweet and she breathed deeply. The world began to fade but she clung onto her father. And he held her too. No matter what happened, she had him.

* * *

I did warn you it was weird...

Hope you enjoyed it though.

Also, sorry for any dodgy German phrases. I do my best but I only study French and Italian so there are probably numerous syntax and grammar errors. If anyone cares to correct me, I'll change it.

REVIEW! and remember to thank ByStarlight999 too.


	9. Chapter 9

My heartfelt apologies for my disappearance. I partially blame it on Real Life but the main story has also undergone some significant reconstruction. The Istanbul and Berlin sub-plots have become more significant and filled with their own mix of action, intrigue and delicious moral-ambiguity. On that subject, we will be seeing the infiltration of the War Ministry in a chapter or two which is expected to be several thousand words of old-fashioned survival horror goodness (back in the days where you were armed only with a dim flashlight and an even dimmer companion). At least, it will end up that way for Alek and Deryn. Volger will OWN as is only natural for a sarcastic, moustachioed nobleman with a penchant for fighting with sabres. ANYWAY, enough of my meaningless rambling and enjoy the story!

* * *

The man on the doorstep wore the grey uniform of a German Army Colonel. His holster held a dull metal Mauser C96. The gun held the Minister's gaze. He wondered if the man was going to shoot him, there and then. But he could not let it happen. Not in front of Liesl. The image of his daughter watching wide eyed as her father bleed to death in their own home was too much for him to take.

"Do it outside."  
The military man seemed surprised.  
"Frederich?"  
The Minister felt it slightly odd that the man would address by his first name.  
"Do it outside." he repeated.  
The man grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him slightly.  
"Frederich! Look at me, man!"  
The Minister looked up. His dull eyes widened.  
"Johann?"  
The soldier smiled his traditional tight lipped grimace.  
"About bloody time. Is there somewhere we can talk?"  
His eyes gestured over the Minister's shoulder. Liesl stood at the top of the staircase, clutching at her mother. As she saw her father was not going to be taken away, she smiled.  
"Hello Mr Soldier-man!"  
She waved enthusiastically. Johann waved back.  
"Your study all right?"  
Listening devices were still a new development in the field of espionage but the Prussian State Police had a budget to rival the entire public transport office.  
"I had it swept a week ago."  
"A week is a long time."  
"You're telling me."  
A week had been enough to catapult him from the top of the political hierarchy to a condemned criminal in all but name. The Colonel pulled off his cap and closed the front door heavily. As the cap came off, the Minister wondered how he could have missed his old friend's patrician Silesian features. He sighed. Sometimes it scared him that a uniform could obscure someone's face quite so effectively.

"What is Daddy doing with the soldier-man?"  
"Colonel Fauster is an old friend of your father. They studied together at the university."  
"If he's such a good friend, why haven't I seen him before?"  
"He has been busy I suppose. I heard he was attached to the 103rd so that means he was in Britain."  
"Really?"  
The girl hopped excitedly from one foot to the other.  
"I wonder if he saw some of the beasts. Maybe he took photographs!"  
"Maybe, Liesl. Listen, Mommy needs to speak to the Colonel about something. Can you go and play upstairs for a while?"  
Liesl looked at her suspiciously.  
"Don't do anything silly, mommy. The soldier-man has a gun you know!"  
The woman gave her daughter a quizzical look.  
"What do you mean, Liesl?"  
"Soldiers are very good with guns. Daddy said so."  
The girl disappeared down the stairwell, headed for the kitchens. Her mother watched her go with a strange expression on her face. Inside her dress, she shifted the revolver to a more comfortable position.  
The door to the study had been soundproofed. At least, almost soundproofed. On the mid left panel just to the right of the knob, there was a small area that was left deliberately untouched. Ilse pressed her ear to this space and heard the muffled voices of her husband and Colonel Fauster.  
"...chill seems to have authorised unrestricted kraken warfare all over the North Atlantic. The blockade is still in place and we lost another two of our latest kraken-hunting submarines to that Behemoth monster. Things are bad and yet von Heste insists we secure France before he lets the Luftstreitkräfte start patrolling the North Sea."  
"So rationing is continuing?"  
"No. When I said the blockade is in place, I meant it is intact."  
"I heard we broke through last week! They had grain brought in from the US."  
"A lovely piece of fiction. That grain was probably the last of the famine reserve. I am surprised you believed it. You used to be sharper than that."  
"I suppose... I suppose I was just glad that Liesl got to eat properly for a while."  
"Ah. I understand."  
The faintest hesitation betrayed the soldier's lie. They were silent for a moment. Then the Minister thought aloud.  
"Why are you telling me this?"  
"I think it's time."  
"A little late for that..."  
"No. Don't tell me you have forgotten those years we spent in the university, plotting the reforming of the world."  
"The Cassius Protocol?"  
"We sure gave things ridiculous names back then... Anyway, four of the five necessary factors are already in play."  
"Civil unrest among the general public?"  
"Hunger Riots in Munich, Dresden even Berlin is having problems containing it."  
"Mutiny in the army?"  
"The regular Army units, especially the conscript divisions, just want to get sent home now the war is over. Most of the smart officers realise that trying to occupy all of Europe and the Near East is simply implausible. If a push comes to a shove, they will be happy to side with us as long as we prove we have Germany's best interests at heart. Paul von Hindenburg is probably our best bet. He's a national hero for storming London and commands a great deal of respect from the army and the bureaucrats back in Berlin. As long as we give him a suitable target."  
"And the target is von Heste? He's the third factor?"  
"Naturally. He's the man who twisted the Kaiser's arm into making him sign Order 6024."  
"Hmm. I almost feel sorry for the man."  
"Von Heste?"  
"No, the Kaiser. He tried to start reforms but he was too weak in the end. Still, he will make a fitting enough figurehead for our revolution." the Minister sighed. "And the fourth factor is of course..."  
"You."  
"Ah. I see now."  
"I came to you as your friend and as a fellow believer in the liberation of our nation."  
"I don't do that sort of thing anymore. Besides, I stopped with the Blankers..."  
"I brought you some in case you ran out."  
There was a noise like something being placed firmly on a table. It rattled like it was filled with beads. Her husband's voice lost some of its confidence.  
"That is not the main problem. I can't take them."  
"What? But how do you expect to function..."  
"I promised Liesl!"  
"You also promised Liesl you were going to make the world a better place!"  
"But I can't do this to her..."  
"For god's sake man! We are talking about the liberation of an entire nation, an entire continent even! I thought you had just gone soft in your comfortable family life but instead I see you have become a coward."  
"Don't you dare speak to me like that!"?  
"Well prove it then! Do what you have to do! Or was all the rhetoric just lies?"  
There was an endless silence. Ilse wanted to move, to storm into the room and tell her husband not to take those goddamn pills. Those little black monsters that had almost taken him away from her. She wanted to but something deep down held her back and until the day she died, she would never know whether it was just the shock or the worry of the past few days or even, just maybe, that she realised some small truth in Colonel Fauster's words.  
The study door opened. The Colonel stepped out, looking at Ilse with suspicion. A man with cold grey eyes appeared behind him. His expression was stony. The army officer spoke:  
"How much did you hear?"  
The woman shook her head, tears beginning to blur her blue eyes. He couldn't have... He had promised...  
His aloof, mocking voice swept away her last desperate hopes.  
"She won't betray us. She _loves_ me."  
There was something terribly wrong about the way he said "loves". His lip twitched in strange half smile at the word. The man turned and began to walk down the stairs, the Colonel trailing him with an apologetic grimace at the woman at the top of the stairs. When he reached the hall, a small figure with blonde hair appeared from the kitchen door.  
"Daddy?"  
The man continued to walk towards the door, ignoring the confused child yelling after him.  
"Daddy! Don't leave!"  
The girl ran forward on her little legs and began to snatch at his clothes. One of her hands grabbed his trouser leg and she clung on with tiny fists.  
"Daddy! You said they wouldn't take you away! You said..."  
"Get off of me."  
The man's voice was imperious and as cold as steel.  
"Daddy?"  
The girl's voice quavered.  
"But daddy..."  
His open palm struck her across the face. The girl fell backwards, her pale blue eyes filling with tears and a red mark forming on her cheek.  
The man did not even look down. He just shook his trouser leg back into its original creases and marched out the door, leaving a terrible silence behind him.

Blankers were an experimental combat drug, first pioneered during the Balkans Wars. The major school of thought before then was that combat drugs should turn men into mindless dervishes, unable to feel fear or pain. During the course of the war, these drugs were abandoned. Machineguns and barbed wire meant soldiers needed to be sensible, not psychotic. Blankers, or Emotion Suppressants as they are formally known, were designed as a result. In a battlefield situation, a soldier needs to make clear minded decisions without the effects of stress, anger or compassion. These emotions can result in actions which are not tactically sound and counter-productive on a strategic scale. Attempting to recover a friend's body is a common example. It has no strategic value or merit and can be very dangerous to the persons undertaking it. A soldier on Blankers will recognise the dangers and not attempt it. It also cuts down on the effects of battle fatigue and "shell shock", at least as long as the drug is still being taken. Some soldiers have been known to grow heavily dependent on them. Unable to come to terms with actions they committed while under the drug's influence, they are forced to keep on taking the drug in larger and larger doses so that they need not feel the emotional trauma such actions would normally incur. These cases frequently end in suicide.

* * *

Alek's mouth was slightly open, his expression one of complete shock. Volger's nostrils flared and anger cast dark shadows across his gaunt face but he held still, every muscle relaxed. Deryn recognised it very well from her fencing lessons. It was the position he assumed just before he drew his sword, a habit born from decades of practice. Bauer's hand had disappeared into his jacket where his black Clanker pistol was concealed. His eyes flicked from Malone to Volger to Alek, waiting for some sign of how to proceed.  
Deryn herself did not feel any of their shock. She wondered if she should but with all the raucous of these past few weeks, she had difficulty feeling _anything_. She felt as if her emotions were wrapped in a layer of thick cotton, as if the whole world was just some bizarre dream and she was wondering through it, waiting to awaken.  
It happened too quickly for Deryn to realise until after the fact. The blade made only a faint whistle as it flew from its case, the eerie scratch of steel followed by a cruel clang that smashed the stunned silence into jagged shards.  
Volger stood with his knife a bare inch from Malone's throat. The reporter's outstretched arm held a strange American pistol pointed straight into Volger's chest. It was notched on the barrel where Malone had used it to parry Volger's thrust. The man's face was unchanged like a mask but Volger's showed an ugly snarl.  
"I never thought you would be stupid enough to follow us here."  
"Now come on Count..."  
"You're American Intelligence, aren't you? A spy! I guessed when I saw your article. The assassination of the Archduke by the German military was the real story, not Alek. Except you Government must have thought that the information would make a better bargaining chip if it wasn't released to the public."  
Malone smiled faintly. Deryn's woozy brain suddenly clicked back into gear like some Clanker machine.  
A spy! Malone was a barking spy for the Americans? This time, a squick of shock and alarm squeezed through the barrier of her despair. Bauer's pistol was out now, the man's finger tensed over the trigger. Alek's eyes were wide with anger and betrayal. Deryn knew why. Alek had trusted Malone with his secrets, thought that he was a member of the American "free press" that his father had praised so much. But he was just from another government trying to manipulate him to help its own cause. Volger's voice was as sharp as the knife he held.  
"Get out of this place before I..."  
Malone ignored him and addressed Alek directly.  
"I have a proposition for you, Prince Aleksandr von Hohenburg."  
"I am not interested in your games, Mr Malone."  
Alek spoke softly but deadly serious. He turned to the Count.  
"Volger!"  
The man nodded without taking his eyes off of Malone. Then, with a blur of motion, Volger twisted his arm down, the knife snagging the sleeve of Malone's tailored suit. As his right hand pulled the man's arm to one side, Volger's left delivered a sharp blow to the American's wrist, causing him to drop the pistol. He brought the knife up again and Malone stepped backwards, almost falling on to the thin bed.  
"I said, enough, Volger!"  
There was a hard edge to Alek's voice, one Deryn had never heard before. Even Volger's eyes widened in surprise before resuming their impenetrable coolness. Deryn suspected that it was a tone he had inherited from his father, one which demanded total and unconditional obedience. Alek motioned for the others to follow him out the door. As his hand touched the doorknob, Malone spoke to his turned back.  
"Generalfeldmarshal Klaus von Heste."  
Alek stopped but did not turn. Encouraged, the American continued.  
"Generaloberst von Barker. Generaloberst Löss.  
Landadmiral von Ronn. Generalleutnant von Stael. Landvizeradmiral Kaisan. Oberst Frummer..."  
"Don't play your ridiculous games with me! Who are these people?"  
"Frummer? He was their liaison to the Black Hand in Serbia."  
Deryn's mind raced. Black Hand? Weren't they the terrorists who murdered Archduke Ferdinand?  
Alek turned. His expression was colder than Deryn had ever seen. It was just wrong, for Alek to be looking like that. It was as if his regular, kind features were being distorted through a misshapen lens.  
When Alek finally spoke, his words were filled with such bitter hatred Deryn almost stepped backwards.  
"I see."  
His green eyes bored into Malone. His eyes were like twin spotlight beams guiding a kraken to its prey. For a moment, he just stared. Malone tried to meet his gaze but it was like looking into a furnace. At last:  
"What do you propose, Mr Malone?"  
To his credit, Malone managed to reply without a tremor.  
"An exchange. Information on your parents' killers in return for your assistance in an operation I have been entrusted with."  
"What sort of operation?"  
"My government is very interested in a document, housed in the old War-Ministry building."  
Deryn mind reeled. Malone couldn't possibly be referring to...  
"It's called Goliath."  
"Goliath?"  
Alek's voice had slowly lost its fury as the boy's inherent curiosity began to get the better of him.  
"A project the Royal Society was working on before the war, originally a joint effort with the Wudnt Institute in Leipzig. Much like the Leviathan was initially a deal between the Royal Aerological Society and the German aircraft company: Rapp Motorenwerke. So was the Behemoth for that matter. All of them started off as civilian projects that promised a mutually beneficial fusion of Clanker and Darwinist technology."  
Deryn snorted.  
"The Leviathan doesn't have any Clanker parts! At least, not before Alek turned up..."  
"But it did adapt marvellously quickly, did it not? Just a few minutes, barely an hour? Remarkable unless you take into account the fact it was _designed _to be fitted with a pair of high performance Type 1 BMW engines, not the primitive pieces of scrap you Darwinists fitted it with. But of course, once the Triple Entente was formed, all diplomatic relations between Clankers and Darwinists fell apart. The plans were seized by the War Office and weaponised. The Clankers decided to cut their losses and flee. So the Leviathan lost its magnificent engines and the Behemoth lost its original companion ship: SMS Tapferkeit."  
Deryn looked at Malone disbelieving.  
"The Admiralty double crossed the Germans just like that?"  
"Why are you so surprised? They practically stole two and three quarter million pounds from the Turks and then went around sabotaging their defences and assaulting their navy."  
"But what does that have to do with Goliath?"  
Alek's voice was raised but the fiery anger which had consumed him seemed to have burnt itself out somewhat. Deryn was glad. The transformation had unnerved her somewhat. Still, she wasn't sure what to make of all this. Captain Hobbes _had_ said that she could entrust the Goliath documents to the Americans but...  
"No-one knows. The War Office shut down and confiscated all the Royal Society's research on the subject and the scientists from the Wudnt Institute disappeared soon after. It's all very mysterious. That's why we're all so eager to get their hands on that document."  
"But you must know something about it other than its name?"  
"All we know was that it was bigger than both the Leviathan and the Behemoth put together and the project was headed by one of old Darwin's own protégés: Dr Charles Curling."

* * *

One final note, I am still wavering over how the story should end so I have been trying to keep it open ended. Any original ideas would be appreciated although I won't confirm anything until the final few chapters. That would spoil the fun! Remember, the only way **you** (insert imposing picture of Lord Kitchener) can save Alek and Deryn from the horde of sadistic fates I have imagined is to review. So do it!


	10. Chapter 10

I am taking advantage of the alternate nature of the Leviathan universe to alter some historical facts. First of all, Dr Barlow was born a Barlow (i.e. she is unmarried and none of her real-life children have been born). In the books it is never made clear (she doesn't even have a wedding ring). Secondly, in real life Charles Darwin died at the age of 73. In order to make room for his research into lifethreads as well as have him act as a mentor for a young Barlow, he lived into his late eighties. In a world where DNA is large enough to see under a light microscope and steam engines can carry 28,000 ton battleships onto the land, I find these to be acceptable breaks from reality.

CDP - Counter Darwinism Party of Great Britain - The Official "Monkey Luddite" Party

* * *

_The Foreign Office was based in Whitehall, just off of St James Park. Ms Barlow worked there as a junior advisor to the Secretary of Colonial Affairs. It was an arrangement her father had made, much to the budding doctor's chagrin. She wanted to return to Oxford to finish her degree in Bio-Engineering so she could become a Fabricator. Well, half of her wanted to go back to finish her degree. The other half wanted to go back to be with Charles. They had met as teenagers. He was one of her grandfather's many apprentices and assistants who allowed him to continue his research even as his eyes and muscles became too infirm for such delicate work. Of all the young men who helped Dr Darwin back then, Charles Curling was his favourite. The boy had a knack for finding biocompatible protein strands and plasmids, the most draining and frustrating part of fabrication. He was, as her grandfather had always said, almost as good as Nora. For a sixteen year old girl who idolised Darwin, using her as a standard for competence was the highest form of praise. From this comparison, there rose a feeling of competition: a woman trying to prove herself in a male dominated world and the son of a theatre understudy trying to prove himself in a bourgeoisie society. In short, they were two of a kind. And from their competition, there came mutuality and eventually a firm friendship. Charles was perhaps the only person she felt she could confide in fully. He was never dismissive like her father or clueless like her mother. Her fellows at the University had a bit of a chip on their shoulder thanks to her gender. But Charles understood. They were two of a kind after all._

_Then her father had insisted she take up a more "respectable" post in the Civil Service, away from all the "Socialists, Anarchists and Homosexuals" that the University "seemed to attract". And yet, despite the loneliness of her small townhouse and the forced nature of her position, she couldn't help but be enthralled by the art of diplomacy. It was just as intricate as any homeostasis mechanism, as fascinating as even the most exotic of micro-organisms. The interlocking threads of reliance, competition and predation were just like any ecosystem. As much as she hated to admit it, she loved it just as much as her studies at Oxford. Diplomacy and bioengineering. Not the most likely candidates for a twenty four year old woman's attention. But there was nothing Nora Barlow hated more than being lumped in with "most women"._

"_Ms Barlow?"_

_It was Lord Kewell, her direct superior and the Secretary of Colonial Affairs. Ms Barlow looked up from her desk to see the man dressed in an expansive tweed jacket, a startling change from his usual sombre grey._

"_Yes, your grace?"_

"_Lord Minors has invited me up North to shoot quail. It's a three day trip so the office will be closed until Tuesday. Hope that isn't a bother."_

"_No, it shouldn't be..."_

"_Glad to hear it." He smiled, eyes twinkling almost paternally. "We all know you're married to the job but enjoy your break. Come back nice and refreshed on Tuesday."_

"_Thank you, your grace."_

_He was already off down the stairs. At her words, he raised his hand, back still turned._

"_I'll bring you back a quail if you want one!"_

_Then he was gone._

_The train to Oxford almost emptied her savings but she didn't think about it twice. She almost ran through the rain to her house, grabbing only a small bag of clothes and a book on Tropical Wildlife before running out into the rain again to the station. The train was packed, the smell of damp canvas coming off dozens of rain covers and umbrellas. She squeezed herself into a window seat, a rowdy family sitting beside her. She flashed a forced smile at the haggard mother and bickering children before pulling out her book and letting her mind wander to the fish of the Indian Mangroves which could live for days outside the water or the bizarre parrot like birds of the Amazon which had a specific screech for each predator so their fellow birds knew what action to take. Outside the window, the dark grey of the rain drenched metropolis gave way to the deep green and muddy brown of the countryside. The children eventually tired and curled up in their grateful parent's laps. As the sun disappeared, gaslights flared into life along the train's length, waking the children and prompting them to imitate the sound of the lamps igniting with much arm waving and giggling. But all these things were only on the fringes of Ms Barlow senses. Even the book she was steadily ploughing through failed to hold her thoughts. Her distracted mind was eventually startled out of her reverie by a man dressed in blue._

"_Calling for Oxford Station!"_

_Surprised, Ms Barlow pushed her books into her bag and excused herself, squeezing through the people milling in the corridors before positioning herself by the door. It was raining in Oxford too. Even after almost nine months, she made the way to her old lab with barely a thought. The rain had drenched through her thin coat but she didn't mind. The door opened with a push. The lab was unchanged. She took a tentative step inside, feeling out of place in her skirt and sodden coat._

"_Nora?"_

_She span around._

"_Charles?"_

_He was exactly the same as he remembered. His dark blonde hair was pulled back from his habit of stroking it when he thought. His eyes were wide in surprise but there was that same glint to them. At once a mischievous child and a serious scientist. She stepped forwards..._

"_Hey, Charlie?"_

_She turned again. A woman with dark hair was standing in the door from the store room. Charles gave Ms Barlow a smile. One of his awkward, I-am-sorry-sir smiles that grammar school boys always seemed to pick up._

"_Charlotte, this is Nora Darwin Barlow. She's the grand-daughter of the man himself and a good friend of mine."_

"_Pleasure to meet you."_

_Her voice had a clear American twang. The woman reached out with her hand. Ms Barlow took it, confusion raging inside her head._

"_Nora, this is Charlotte Winters. She's..."_

_He paused for a moment. The American woman finished the sentence for him._

"_I'm his fiancée."_

_She was such a fool, to mistake friendship with romance. It was laughable now she realised. How could she have believed that what she had shared with Charles, what they had done together, how that was anything but simple friendship? She felt like she needed to bang her head against a wall, punish herself for such stupid ideas. She felt like laughing at that former self, the girl who had spent her meagre income on some mad dash to Oxford, as if expecting a friend like Charles to meet her on the station and embrace her like something out of a cheap paperback. _

_No. Nora Barlow did not do things like that. She was a scientist and she was on her way to becoming the only woman to receive a fabrication license. She was not some ditsy country girl with her head in the clouds, dreaming about Prince Charming. So why did she feel like this? Why did she feel betrayed? Abandoned? She hated that Winters woman. As much as she tried to persuade herself that Ms Winters appeared to be a perfectly pleasant woman (if as bland as hell and with such an annoying American accent), she could not help but feel anger against her. The feeling scared her. She normally did not surprise herself like this._

"_Nora? What are you doing out here in the cold?"_

_He was right behind her, the narrow balcony forcing their bodies close. She would usually not notice the sudden intimacy but right now, she could feel a blush rising. She struggled to hide it, embarrassed and uncertain._

"_It's nothing."_

_He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her. It was much thicker than her flimsy affair and was warm from his wearing it. The blush continued to rise, warming her cold features until they were almost burning. She could smell him, his scent lingering in the jacket's thick wool. It was unbearable._

"_Where did you meet her?"_

_She blurted out. If she had been thinking at all, she would never have brought it up but it didn't seem like her mind was in favour of thinking right now. She didn't look at him, still hiding her blush but she could feel his body shift behind her._

"_Charlotte? Her father is an American entrepreneur, medical science. He introduced me to some Clanker gentlemen from the Wudnt Institute. They want me to work with them on some big project."_

"_Not exactly Charles Darwin though."_

_What was that? It was so juvenile, so petty. When had she ever cared about who anyone's father was? _

"_Nora..."_

_She tried to push him away but the narrow balcony restricted their movements. He grabbed her arm and she let out an involuntary gasp at his touch. What was wrong with her?_

"_Nora! Please, just..."_

_She looked at him properly for the first time since he had come onto the balcony. His eyes were confused. She could see herself reflected in them. She could see the wild look in her own eyes. She couldn't bear it. She tore herself out of his grip with desperate strength and ran through the small flat. Winters was sitting in an armchair. The armchair Nora had come to think of as her armchair. She practically ran through the sitting room and front door; down the stairs and into the street. She ran and ran until she collapsed against an alley wall, soaking wet and crying her eyes out. _

_How could she be so stupid?_

"Ms Barlow? Are you all right?"

The lady-boffin turned towards the speaker but not enough to quite meet Richthofen's eye. Silhouetted against the glow of the gaslights, it was impossible to make out her expression. Why had she frozen in the doorway like that? The laboratory was clearly empty...

"I'm perfectly fine."  
She paused, steadying her voice slightly. When she spoke again, it was in the business-like manner he had come to expect from her.

"Well... shall we get started on your eye?"

* * *

The flimsy wooden door rattled, startling Deryn who had been leaning against it. Malone pulled a face and whispered in Clanker:

"Seems like some people don't understand the whole bribery concept very well."

He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. Deryn noticed the other hand reach for his pistol but Volger picked up the gun and placed it inside his jacket.

"Answer it."

The Count hissed. Malone shrugged and made for the door. Deryn got out of his way and sat down on the bed next to Alek. There was the rattle of the chain and light from the old gas lamp in the hall formed an orange stripe across the dingy room.

"Ah, Ms Rowen. I..."

Malone spoke with a heavy Clanker accent, quite an authentic sounding one in Deryn's opinion. A slightly shrill voice interrupted him.

"I ain't takin' your bloody Clanker money!"

The part of Malone's face Deryn could see looked slightly alarmed.

"Please Madam, calm..."

There was a dull thwack and Malone stumbled backwards into the room, the sliver of gaslight illuminating an ugly mark appearing over his eye. Bauer let out a hoot of laughter.

"A woman spited, Mr Rosencrantz?"

Malone began to swear in a host of unfamiliar languages though Deryn recognised French, German and even a little Turkish from her time in Istanbul. Volger didn't laugh. His eyes were fixed on the door, his hand clenching his knife.

"What was that about?"

He inquired sharply. Malone looked up. A hand shaped red mark had formed across the left hand side of his face. Bauer's laughter grew. Malone glared at him.

"I honestly have no idea."

Bauer shook his head, still chuckling.

"Maybe I should come back to this place. These Darwinists girls look like they have some spirit to them. And four months with only you four guys is getting to me..."

Volger cuffed the hysteric gunner over the head and snarled something rude in Clanker. Bauer shut up but kept on smiling. Alek looked on in utter confusion.

"I don't understand. What is going on?"

Deryn bit her lip. It was all she could do to stop herself from laughing at Alek's naivety. But she didn't want to earn a hit from Volger. The Count in question seemed very eager to avoid the Prince's eye.

"I demand to be told what is going on!"

Malone was smiling faintly. Bauer seized the initiative.

"You see, sir..."

"Fritz." The Prince corrected.

"Fritz. You see, a man has certain parts which are different from those of a woman..."

"SILENCE!"

"Ah come on, Count. You're going to have to explain this eventually..."

The Count's face was deadly serious. With a sudden, silent movement, he was up next to the door, ears pressed against the doorframe. The room's light-hearted atmosphere disappeared in an instant. Bauer pulled Alek behind him and slid the pistol from its holster inside his jacket. Malone moved to the tiny window and began to pull away loose bricks. Spies took escape plans seriously, it appeared. Volger raised his hand and made a rapid series of hand gestures that Deryn couldn't interpret. Bauer could however as he began to help Malone with the window, widening the tiny space into a hole someone could crawl out of. Alek made as if to say something but Volger silenced him with a look. The Count then held his hand out to Bauer who passed him Malone's pistol. It was an American gun (which seemed pretty barking silly considering he was a secret agent and everything) but looked especially lethal in the cold moonlight from the enlarged window. Volger gestured for everyone to leave. Bauer pushed Alek and Deryn towards the window. Malone was emptying some of his drawers into his pockets. A chair was pushed beneath the window and Alek clambered out first. Deryn followed him. The window looked out on a dirty tiled rooftop. It was quite steep but the irregular shingles gave plenty of hand holds. Deryn peaked back through the window. Volger was having another conversation in sign language with Bauer. Malone leapt for the window. For a moment he scrambled on the slippery tiles and then he found his footing and disappeared onto the neighbour's roof and then into an alley.

"Bum-rag."

Deryn whispered. The American had just abandoned them all.

"Dylan!"

She followed Alek's eyes into the sky. There! Silhouetted against the stars was a huge shape. For a moment, Deryn thought it was the Leviathan. But it was too small, its dorsal regions the wrong shape. But then hope was rekindled. It was an airbeast! Britain was finally taking the fight to the Clankers! Bright spotlights shone from the airbeast, illuminating a second smaller shape, this one cylindrical. Black shapes fluttered in the orange light, Flechette bats released from their coves. The German zeppelin was suddenly blood red. Almost immediately the airship lost its regular shape, the airbag collapsing around the aluminium skeleton. The ruined ship folded, hydrogen spilling from a thousand holes. A spark! A dancing tongue of flame gushed from the cabin, the windows exploding outwards. Bright orange flames clambered up the airship's sides, gouts of flame chasing each other over the airship's surface like playful dragons. And then Deryn was no longer clinging to a roof in the Whitechapel. She was outside Glasgow and watching the black figure of her father silhouetted against the burning kerosene tanks. The high pitched wail that might have been the hot air or a man's screams. The horrible feeling of helplessness as the figure was engulfed by the flames... She was falling. Away from the balloon and the fire and the awful flailing figure that was her father... Falling...

* * *

Alek could see the burning airship reflected in the boy's eyes. He remembered the look from the Alps, an empty sort of look as if he was in a daydream. The boy's hands grew limp. He was slipping. Alek grabbed for him but the boy's weathered flight jacket ripped off. Alek threw the thing aside (God alone knew why it had so many lines of shoddy stitching on the inside) and grasped for the boy's hand.

"Dylan!"

Alek cried out in alarm as the boy's un-responding hand slipped away from his and the boy fell backward off the roof, his thin body making a horrible thunk as it hit the paving stones. Alek said something he had learnt from Hoffman and that probably would have made his mother swoon. And Princess Sophie had not been the swooning type. Dylan was lying on the pavement, his body so much thinner without the jacket draped over it. His arm looked twisted and he wasn't moving but at least there was no blood. But that was a pretty pathetic hope in itself.

"Dylan!"

As Alek desperately looked for a way down to his stricken friend, he noticed a crowd of people pouring out of the Red Indian. A British flag was hanging proudly from a mop handle and Alek could hear the sound of raucous laughter and barely intelligible anti-Clanker slogans. What was going on?

"A riot."

He whispered to himself. That was what had startled Volger so much and why Malone had run away. The group were all clearly anti-Clankers and Alek did not feel like explaining the difference between political fugitives and enemy soldiers - even the gentlemanly Captain Hobbes had shown some difficulty with the division and Alek doubted that these rioters would behave with half the man's decorum. He began to clamber to the edge. Perhaps there would be a pipe he could climb down, like he had in Istanbul before meeting Zaven. There! If only he could...

The boy made a noise not dissimilar to a small bird being hit by a well thrown stone. As he did, he slumped backwards into Bauer's arms. The gunner pulled the young prince over his shoulder, surprised at how slight the boy had become these past few weeks. Volger was busy carefully screwing the top on a glass bottle.

"Have you been carrying that chloroform around ever since Prague?"

The count's stony stare was answer enough. Bauer shrugged.

"Always prepared, Count."

The man snorted in an approximation of a laugh.

"Not as well as I hoped. And Alek is going to be such a bother when he wakes up. He got too attached to that commoner for his own good."

Bauer glanced over his shoulder at the mob. Dylan had been a real stand up person. He had defended Alek and his men from the Leviathan's crew and had come up with that brilliant spice-bomb plan in Istanbul. He could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for the boy. But he was also a soldier and the loss of one man was not going to prevent him from doing his duty.

"Are we going back to Dr Barlow's house?"

"Immediately. This entire affair is no longer worth the risk and it would not be wise to be caught outside when the Army retaliates."

* * *

"What have we got here?"

Deryn's vision was suddenly filled with sparks and colour. Pain shot up from her stomach and she curled weakly into a ball. There was some laughter and something connected with her back, pushing her onto her front. She could feel the hobnails in the man's boot grate against her backbone as he ground her into the filthy street. She stirred weakly and someone grabbed her by the hair. Her head was pulled back and for a moment she thought they were going to cut her throat. Then a leering face appeared inches from her own.

"Looks like a little collaborator to me. Did the Clankers pay you in candy or something, boy?"

Deryn struggled weakly but she was too shaken by the fall.

"I'm... I'm with the Air Service."

The man laughed and somewhere outside her vision, others echoed him.

"The barking Air Service he says. I don't see no uniform, you little mutt!"

"Did someone mention the Air Service?"

Another figure appeared in her line of vision. Upright and well groomed. Deryn's eyes widened.

"Lieutenant Cook?"

The man started but then drew closer. As he did, Deryn knew she was right. It was the man who had written her barking letter of introduction to the Air Service. He would tell them!

"Lieutenant Cook! Remember me? I'm Dylan Sharp, Jaspert's cousin! I went up in the Huxley during that thunder storm!"

The man stopped and stared.

"Good Lord! You** are** Lieutenant Sharp's cousin!"

Lieutenant? Jaspert hadn't written about a promotion. But news was slow during a war.

"Yes sir! I..."

The man holding her hair let go and her head smashed painfully into the paving stones. White spots blurred her vision and she felt herself being pulled upright again. Then a familiar voice piped up.

"I saw him with Clankers! He was helping them!"

Deryn turned her head (which hurt a lot) and saw the young boy who had informed them of where to find Eddie Malone. Lieutenant Cook looked at the boy and turned back to her.

"Is this true, Midshipman?"

What would she say? This wasn't her first time lying to the Air Service. Or even Lieutenant Cook for that matter. But this was different. This was a question of loyalty. To Britain and to the Crown. She couldn't lie about that.

"Y... Yes sir. But I..."

He cut her off.

"I see."

The officer pulled a length of silk from his pocket. It was the type which messenger terns carried.

"'By order of Lord Kitchener, Commander of the Free British Army, all Britons who have committed treasonous acts during the German occupation are to be treated in accordance to the severity of their crimes. These crimes include providing aid, whether martial or logistical, to the German Armed Forces or providing information to the German sponsored Monkey Luddite government. Medical aid is to be tolerated in accordance with International Law. Any members of the CDPB, also known as the Monkey Luddites, are to be arrested for collaboration. Where arrest is not feasible, execution is permitted at the discretion of the overseeing officer as all of the aforementioned crimes are analogous to treason against the British Government. Furthermore, any members of British Armed Forces who refuse aid to the FBA are to be considered deserters and to be shot on sight.'"

He put away the silk ribbon and withdrew an air-pistol, the same type of gun that Deryn had fired a hundred times aboard the Leviathan.

"Lieutenant Sharp is going to be distraught. He thought very highly of you, Dylan."

The man holding her let go, not wanting to be shot by mistake. Without his support (unwanted as it was), Deryn fell backwards onto the street, her head banging against the hard stone. Her vision went cloudy for a moment.

"Wait!"

Her mind was full of excuses: her mission from Captain Hobbes, the fact Alek intended to end all this madness, the obvious...

"I'm... I'm a girl!"

Lieutenant Cook looked at her oddly for a moment. Then he laughed.

"What a truly pathetic choice of last words. Traitors are all such utter cowards."

He raised the pistol. She felt like laughing herself at the stupidity of it all. Here she was, on a secret mission for the Government and about to be executed for treason by her brother's commanding officer. On the outskirts of her hearing, she made out a peculiar thump sound, like someone punching a pillow. Someone shouted something but Deryn couldn't catch it. Instead, she noticed Lieutenant Cook's head snap backwards, scanning the sky. His mouth opened in horror. She tried to look up too but could only snatch a glimpse of arching trails of blue-white smoke. Cook yelled something. There was an explosion of light.

Then, Deryn's world was set ablaze.

* * *

A/N

Hi everyone! I apologise profusely for my extended absence. Exams got in the way and I have had some trouble getting back into the story. But this story is not yet dead. The updates will be fewer but more regular, I hope. No more eight month gaps! Still, the actual book of Goliath will no doubt come out long before I finish. Thanks go to hamaiasa who persuaded me to return to Goliath. And for all you Clanker enthusiasts out there, Keith Thompson (Leviathan's illustrator) has some lovely steampunky pieces for the Iron Grip games. Look on my profile for some links.


	11. Chapter 11

Flight Lieutenant Jaspert Sharp clicked his tongue impatiently. It was a habit he had picked up from the school master in a drafty, Glasgow grammar school. It had originally started as a mocking gesture, something which had irritated the venerable man no end. Then he had left school and was terrified to find out that it had stuck. It ticked off the other officers as well but that was more of a bonus considering most of them were the poncy Sandhurst types and he never minded a chance to mess with those bumrags. Right now though, he was not on the Minotaur. He missed the feel of the airbeast's body, the reassuring mumble of its constituent beasties, the easy numbness of routine. But still, as he stilled his clicking tongue long enough to inhale an invigorating breath of cool night air, he was glad he was here. Glad he was about to make good the oath he had sworn to King and Country when he first joined the Air Service. Glad he was about to make history. Lord Churchill's speech was still ringing in his ears:

"Men of these British Isles, we stand at the cross roads. Today, we must make a choice between two diverging paths. One leads to freedom, for us and our nation. The other leads into the maw of the Clanker Powers. My former cabinet members would make this choice for you. They have already embarked on the path of slavery and bondage. But are we not a democracy? Is that not our pride, a nation which is ruled by its people? So I ask you, the people of Great Britain, will you not partake in a one final vote before Asquith and Lloyd-George strip you of that right too? But this will be no simple election. No! The ballot will be between the two diverging paths and the votes will be arms! Rise up! If you are brave enough to believe in the future your children once had, rise up! If you are strong enough to defy the forces of oppression and militarism, rise up! If you have the will to see this war through to the end, to show those Clankers that the men of the British Isles will not stand idly by as they lay waste to our beloved land. Rise up, I say! Tonight is a night where history will be made. It may be the final chapter in the history of our island nation. It may be the beginning of a new one. But it will be _glorious_ all the same. God save the King!"

And all the assembled men from the Minotaur had roared with him. It didn't matter that the King had taken his own life in Buckingham Palace and the heirs first through seventeenth were trapped in Britain. The speech's effect on the weary crew was astronomical. Then they had played the National Anthem, a song the Germans had banned. Their hearts had soared as the outlawed tune played over the wireless, tears flowing unashamed.

"Yes," thought Jaspert, "I am about to make history."

He clutched the bulky Enfield rifle to his chest. It was a lot heavier than the standard issue Air Service airguns but unlike those pea shooters, this weapon had a chance of penetrating a standard German infantry cuirass with its .303 cartridge. It was distinctly inferior to the semi-automatic Gweher-09 Mauser that the Germans used but it was the best the Free British Army could field. Its unfamiliar weight was heavy on the young man's shoulder but he didn't mind. The adrenaline was blocking out the mundane things like the cold, hard stone of the pavement and the brass cartridges digging into his side, the smell of burnt meat from the pyres of St James' Park, the words of his second in command... What? Jaspert turned to the boy - a sixteen year old midshipman with the most forgettable name known to man.

"Yes, Tom?"

The boy bristled slightly despite his demure manner.

"It's Peter, sir. And the German walker is coming."

"All right."

Ignoring his mistakes in traditional, manly, Sharp family fashion, he turned away from the boy and towards the FBA man. Unlike Jaspert and the midshipman, the FBA man was a footslogger by profession. Despite the fact he was the only man in the unit who knew how to fight on the ground, he was a Corporal and therefore it would not be appropriate for him to order around a Lieutenant, no matter his capacity. So the poor Corporal had to convey all his orders through Jaspert.  
"Are the Shadow Dancers in position?"  
Jaspert waved at two men on the rooftop across the road. They waved back, a white kerchief in their hands.

"They're ready."

The Corporal already knew that of course, possessing a pair of working eyes but there were standards to maintain and what not. Plus, Jaspert liked his position of authority, even if he was only a proxy. If the Corporal was irritated, it was lost beneath layers of carefully laid professionalism.

"Good. They'll fire once the walker goes past the Post Office. It's probably reach here before it stops. Remember; do not fire until after the Shadow Dancers have been launched. If it makes it past the corner there, we open up with rifle grenades."

At the man's words, Jaspert's eyes dropped to the pile of grenades. In shape, they looked a lot like toffee apples, the kind he had always begged his mother to buy him and had felt too awkward to buy himself once he had a job and therefore the means to pay for one. Still, he knew the toffee covered treat was very different from these weapons. Their ball shaped exterior was covered in sticky goo which would cling to the side of the walker, even if they put anti-magnetic plating. Its plastique charge could give even a Grenadiere a nasty rattle and could knock a Jäger out completely with a bit of luck. A barrage of six would easily stop the German transport long enough for the rocketeers on the roof to reload and fire another shot. At least in theory. In practice, the transport may shred them with its twin machineguns before they had a chance. Or maybe it would have support. Or maybe the infantry had already dismounted and were circling around them, ready to ambush the ambushers. Or maybe...

"Here we go."

The Corporal whispered. Jaspert's mind immediately emptied. As it did, he felt his senses go into overdrive. He could hear the distant march of the approaching walker, feel the midshipman shivering in anticipation, see the rocketeers on the roof pull back the safety and arm their deadly payload. The sound of the walker grew louder, its growling Clanker engines making it sound more monstrous than any beastie. Jaspert realised this was the first time he had ever seen a walker in person. His breath caught in his throat. He had expected it to be large, yes, and perhaps a little intimidating but he had never imagined it to be as huge and terrifying as the mekanical behemoth lumbering down the road towards them. It was easily as large as an omnibus, its front and sides covered with thick plates of dull metal armour. Its six legs moved it briskly, looking like an oversized insect clambering towards them, its jaws wide. On its back, a small metal turret with a spotlight scanned the surrounding buildings. Jaspert ducked as the beam passed him, remembering only afterwards that he was too concealed in the gutted grocery store for it to matter. The walker slunk past, its spotlight fixing on the roof with the rocketeers for a moment, before moving on. As the forelegs reached the Post Office, there was a high pitched screech. From the rooftop opposite their position, a plume of white smoke shot towards the German walker. Immediately, the turret turned and began firing, its magnesium tracers like bright knives cutting through the air. The noise was deafening but Jaspert realised he could hear the Corporal counting down beside him.

"Six, five, four..."

The machine gun was chewing through the brick and mortar of the building with awful ease. The rocketeers would be torn apart very soon.

"Three, two, one..."

The machinegun stopped firing, leaving a ringing in Jaspert's ears. In its place was the horrible sound of men screaming, turning almost instantly to pained gurgling and then silence. The razor sharp wings of the Shadow Dancer butterfly's could flay exposed skin and flesh with appalling ease. Combined with their fabricated love for sweat, it made them impossibly destructive in an enclosed space. The rear door flew open and a man fell out, screaming bloody murder. As he did, a cloud of flickering shadows dispersed from the metal insides of the walker into the night sky. The Corporal turned to Jaspert and grinned.

"I didn't think you flyboys could pull it off."

Jaspert shrugged with false modestly. Then he turned back to the road. The German soldier was lying on his back, his arms over his face. The sleeves were in shreds and dozens of tiny cuts covered his forearms but his throat and face had been protected long enough for the door to open which had probably saved his life. As he tentatively lowered his arms, he saw half a dozen British airmen and soldiers advancing towards him. He let out a strangled cry and his hand flew to his holster but the Corporal was already running up. As the Clanker fumbled with the holster's leather strap, the Midshipman brought his rifle butt into his face. There was a crack that made Jaspert shudder. It sounded like when Deryn's arm had tangled in a landing rope and snapped. The Clanker fell on the ground, his pistol forgotten and hands clutching his nose. The Corporal kicked away the dropped revolver and the German raised his hands in surrender. The Corporal nodded and lowered his rifle. Then he drove the butt into the Clanker's stomach. The man fell to the ground, with a cry clutching at his belly. The Corporal grabbed the German by the front of his uniform and pulled him to his knees.

"Tell me, where you at Baker's Street?"

The German began spouting an incomprehensible stream of Clanker and was only silence when the Army man gave him a brutal backhand to the face that split the man's lip and caused ugly purple bruising around his right eye.

"WERE YOU AT BAKER'S STREET?"

The German recoiled at the man's shout and nodded furiously. The Corporal nodded and then pushed him back onto the ground.

"Then you should know how this works."

Jaspert and the other Air Service men watched curious as the German staggered to his feet. As he did, the Corporal hit him with the rifle butt again, causing him to fall on all fours.

"Go on. Do it!"

The German did not seem to understand anything at all so the Corporal "helped" him. With another push, the man was flat on his face, his eyes level with the Corporal's boots. The Army man pushed his boot into the Clanker's face.

"Go on! Lick it! Just like what you made Will do! Remember? You dragged him out of his house and made him lick your boots in front of the entire street. Go on!"

After a moment, the Clanker figured it out and tried to back away but the Corporal was insistent. Eventually the German submitted, to hoots of laughter from the assembled airmen. The Corporal grabbed the soldier by the hair and pulled him up to kneeling.

"Do you know what happened then?"

The Clanker shook his head, his eyes pleading.

"You dragged him in front of his family. You made him say goodbye to his wife and daughter. And then you told him to open his mouth."

The Clanker clearly failed to understand so the Corporal literally tried forced the man's jaw open. The Clanker struggled and gave pleading looks to the airmen but they were all too filled with morbid curiosity to halt the Corporal's monologue. The Corporal removed his bayonet which caused the Clanker to open his mouth of his own accord.

"Do you know what happened next?"

The Corporal shoved his rifle's barrel into the man's open mouth. He was grinning now. Around, the airman watched with a mix of horror and fascination. The Clanker let out a strangled sob that went ignored.

"I'll give you one guess."

-0-

**Fourth Army Command, Istanbul**

"So only the Eastern Quarter is still hot?"

The Lieutenant nodded curtly.

"We have the rebels contained in that sector. Once the 88th Armoured is in position, we will pick through the neighbourhood, street by street. The 88th is well equipped for this sort of urban fire sweep."

"Casualty projections?"

"High."

The Brigadier General gave the Lieutenant a sharp look.

"That is... Around two thousand men. Fifty or so walkers."

The Brigadier looked surprised.

"For a ragtag bunch of irregulars and civilian walkers? We cleared out forts filled with Russian veterans without that kind of carnage."

"Well that is the problem. We've always fought conventional. The men aren't exactly used to the sort of war where any civilian on a street might saunter up to them and blow themselves up."

The Brigadier General stared hard at the map. The enemy had learnt how to use civilians as both a shield from the German artillery and a disguise for their saboteurs. It disgusted and fascinated him in equal measure. The orders he was getting from Berlin (and the Sultan for that matter) were to treat all approaches as hostile; a bureaucrats way of saying "fire at will". He knew it would only aggravate the situation. But every day he lost more men. Sooner or later, someone would snap and there would be a massacre. The last thing he needed were pictures of German soldiers machine gunning unarmed civilians. The populace was already aggressive enough.

"What about her?"

The staff stiffened. Rumour dictated that the daughter of Christaphor Zaven and granddaughter of the family matriarch - Sansa, had been captured. The girl, Lilit, had harassed German forces for weeks in her customized "Minotaur" walker. If anyone knew the rebel strongholds, she would. Then the Military could target all of then simultaneously secure any remaining weapon stashes and field hospitals, bringing the resistance to its knees in one swoop and allowing the German forces to finally withdraw from the blood soaked city. After three months fighting the Russians and another one fighting the CUP, they were all ready to go home.

"Colonel Leer, can you deal with it? She's housed in the Hürriyet Sanatorium just outside the city. Captain Israel and Dr Haus are stationed there."

A grey haired man nodded. As the staff lost interest and turned back to their work, the Brigadier General leaned towards him and whispered with some disgust:

"The Sultan has her grandmother's head on a _pike_. From what the bureaucrats back in Berlin are suggesting, the man wants the girl's head too. So as well as overseeing the interrogation, I'll need you to keep the Sultan's men out of the place for as long as possible. We need the information she has. So as much as I hope the dear Sultan will throw us out of this godforsaken city, I don't want a diplomatic incident either. Be subtle but delay them until Dr Haus gets the details we need."

"Understood, sir."

-0-

Israel slumped back in his chair, suddenly exhausted. He wondered if he should be soothed by the soft browns and cool stone of the building. Whether or not it had an effect was beyond the Captain's tired mind. He wanted nothing more than lie on his bed and wake up in Nuremburg, preferably in some girl's bed, with his studies over and a letter from Mercedes or one of the other mekanical giants begging him to join them. Instead he would awake to an empty sanatorium, a bowl of that awful gloop their Turkish auxiliaries served them for breakfast and then...

The door rattled as someone knocked. He wondered idly if the inmates of the sanatorium were able to break down the feeble partitions between their cells and the rest of the building. Before he could ponder further, the door was pushed open. Haus stood there, his haughty smile dancing around his eyes. His mouth remained in its omnipresent frown, as if the world was constantly disappointing him.

"Evening, Captain."

Hans felt a very strong desire to throw something at the good doctor. One of his dress boots was on hand but he lacked the energy to even grab it. He responded with bitter resentment.

"What is it, Haus?"

The amusement in the man's dark brown eyes intensified.

"You look terrible. Catch."

A heavy glass bottle flew from the man's hand towards the seated Captain. His hands flew up, managing to snatch the small jar before it hit him in the face. He glanced at the label. Emotion Suppressants - Level IV. He twisted off the cap. It was empty.

"Screw you."

He threw the empty bottle back to the doctor who caught it deftly and returned it to its pocket. He spoke with mock concern.

"Those things will take twenty years of your life."

The Captain gave out a disgusted sigh but didn't argue. His head fell back, telling the other man to leave. Needless to say, he didn't take the hint. Or he simply ignored it.

"Colonel Leer wants to bring her off the sedatives. Against my better medical judgement, I have done so. She'll come to in the next hour."

"Why are you telling me this?"

The Doctor sighed as if the answer was oh-so-obvious to the extent that it was a waste of oxygen to verbalise it.

"You caught the Scarlet Demon. If you..."

"I caught a sixteen year old girl! That doesn't exactly make me a hero."

The doctor continued smoothly as if he had not been interrupted.

"If you don't take advantage of this opportunity, someone like Leer will take all the credit and they will get promoted out of here instead of you."

"How very suspicious of you, Dr Haus."

Another man had appeared behind the doctor. His grey uniform was impeccable, a stark contrast from Israel's discarded jacket and rumpled shirt or the Doctor's non-regulation coat, non-regulation omniscope and very much non-regulation corduroy trousers. The man ignored the Colonel's barbed comment and greeted him with his typical breezy indifference.

"Ah, Colonel! I was wondering when you would appear."

The Colonel made a disapproving noise at the back of his throat but Dr Haus was a civilian and his authority was limited. He contented himself with asking:

"When will she awake?"

"Within the hour. Captain Israel has just volunteered to assist."

The man in question shot the doctor a dirty look and began the arduous task of extracting himself from the chair and attempting to pull himself together mentally. He had rather more success with the former than the latter but under the imperious gaze of Leer, he got himself in some semblance of order and the three walked together to the Detention Wing. As they walked, they passed a pair of Turkish auxiliaries hosing down the stone cells. The three men pretended not to notice the red tinge of the water or the clumps of things which might have been dirt or... other things. The Sultan had used the Sanatorium as a political prison before he had gifted it to the Germans as a field hospital and they were still finding grisly remains of the Secret Police's work in some of the rooms. One of Haus' first acts upon arriving had been to brick up the door to the electroshock therapy room. No-one needed to ask why.

Haus led them up to the Trauma Ward. The rooms here were larger and had only one bed with room for bulky medical equipment. Two men in Military Police uniforms stood outside, eyes forward. Israel and Leer surrendered their sidearms before entering. Haus pulled the omniscope over his eyes. It was an odd, boxy contraption made from cedar wood and brass with a broad glass strip allowing him to see out and a row of brass holes for electrodes right below it. Along its right side were a dozen or so little brass levers and knobs. He manipulated them with practiced fingers and there was a sound like sharpening blades as the internal mechanisms reshuffled themselves. Bulky glass lenses began twisting and then slid into place in front of his eyes. A bright electrik light turned on and then dimmed. A pair of delicate brass arms reached out the top to which he clipped a piece of photographic paper and they disappeared back into the machine. Israel gave the machine a worried look. While Dr Haus had not gone the full way and had the omniscope grafted over his real eyes like many professional surgeons, it remained an unsettling sight. The man's face was covered down to the top of his mouth and his breathing became more ragged and nasal as the synaesthesia electrodes clicked into place along the neurones inside his nose. The omniscope was a device designed to allow a doctor to be aware of as many bits of information as possible at any one time, going as far as use electrik pulses on the nasal neurones for things like heartbeat, freeing up the ears and eyes for more complex information. It could be connected to medical equipment to monitor a patient's vitals during an operation and display photographic negatives over the doctor's view of the patient, allowing him to check photographs of similar cases or x-ray images against the actual patient. It also had a myriad of focusing and magnification lenses for precise surgeries.

Dr Haus' head jerked slightly as the machine reacquainted itself with the more sensitive parts of his face. Then it was done and they entered. The room was painted faded blue, unlike the bare sandstone of the rest of the building. It gave a feeling of warmth and unexpected comfort. The bed was screened by a curtain. Behind it, he could hear the low whirr of machinery, monitors and autoinjectors. Dr Haus walked to a small wooden table and pulled some gloves from a bowl of disinfectant. He then used his elbow to push away the curtain. The two officers started. Israel bit his lip and even Leer's cool eyes widened momentarily.

Lilit Zaven lay on the starched linen of the bed, her eyelashes fluttering as the sedatives wore off. Her dark hair was fanned over her pillow and her arms lay atop the sheets. Apart from the needle in her elbow, she looked perfectly normal, a teenage girl deep asleep. It was disturbing. For Israel, the operation had been a rushed affair. One of the men had found her and he had run over. She had clung to him, screaming in horror and swatting at the darkness. In that state, covered in dirt and blood, not all of it her own, and with madness in her eyes, it had not been difficult to see her as just another crazed rebel, an enemy soldier not a teenager. Now her expression was one of peace and comfort. Her face was clean and surprisingly pretty. He felt sick. There was no denying it. Lilit Zaven was still very much a child. His mother had always said that Hell had a special corner for men who harmed children. As he recoiled from the sight, her eyelids fluttered harder. Then they opened. She tried to sit up but Dr Haus placed a hand gently on her chest and pressed her down. She stared at him, her brown eyes filled with fear.

"Who... Where... Why?"

Her words tumbled out in quick succession, barely comprehensible in her rising panic. The Colonel's hand dropped to his empty holster. Haus made soft hushing noises as he checked her vitals. Then her eyes focused on Israel. Her brown eyes widened in surprise and... something else. A delighted smile broke across her features.

"Father!"

-0-

"Oh god!"

"Calm down, man!"

"Why the hell should I calm down? That girl thinks I'm her goddamn father! What the hell is wrong with her?"

The Colonel looked on impassively. They had fled the room at the girl's declaration, the MPs staring as Haus and Israel began a shouting match. At the last comment, he decided to join the conversation.

"While I do not approve of the Captain's language, I second that inquiry."

Haus looked at them. His eyes were hidden beneath the omniscope but his voice conveyed what his usually expressive eyes and eyebrows could not. Danger.

"Do you want to hear my diagnosis?" He practically spat. "I'd say intense emotional trauma from the death of her family followed by two weeks of intense combat and fifty grams of metal shrapnel in her stomach. Then exposure to Alptraumgas at roughly three times the recommended dosage and to someone at least two years below the minimum tested age. Who knows what effects it could have had on her brain chemistry? Some may have been suppressed or more likely they are confused with whatever nightmares she had when she was under. Alptraumgas is a misnomer. They aren't actually nightmares - they are in the same plane of mind as waking thought. That means that they are, as far as the mind is concerned, _real_. Konigsberg Syndrome: her nightmares have become her whole reality. Her own bed stand could be her father for all she knows. Perhaps Israel just has a passing resemblance and she's just clinging to that. I don't know. I'm not a psychotherapist."

The Colonel grimaced but then his expression lightened.

"But this may also be an excellent opportunity."

Israel shot him an angry look.

"What do you mean?"

"She thinks you are her father. You should have no problem extracting the necessary information from her."

Israel gave the Colonel an appalled expression.

"I am going to pretend to a child that I am her dead father so I can force her to betray her friends? That's just disgusting!"

Leer's expression hardened considerably. When he spoke, it was in the bark of a commanding officer.

"I will not tolerate any more insubordination on your part. I let you get away with a lot due to Battle Fatigue and Shell Shock but unless you start acting like a soldier of the Empire now, I'll drag you to the stockade myself. Now get in that room and follow your orders!"

The Captain recoiled from his superior like a drunk might recoil from a bright light. Behind him, the Doctor raised his hand in mock salute and muttered under his breath:

"For Kaiser and Fatherland."

-0-

The mass use of incendiary munitions was banned by the Treaty of Cologne in 1907, as was the use of biological acid. The reasoning was quite simple. For the Clankers, the best way to kill a creature was to use either white phosphorous or thermite as even high explosive shells could not incapacitate an enraged warbeast fast enough to prevent the thing wreaking havoc on their walker battalions. Similarly, the use of acid-producing larvae was the cornerstone of Darwinist anti-armour doctrine. In theory, preventing both sides from using such weapons would discourage them from fighting altogether. In practice, it was too little too late and by the time the war started, both sides had already given up on the Treaty. Still, the Germans were not stupid enough to start dropping incendiaries over oh-so-flammable London, right?

It astonished Deryn how she managed to think of all that in the time it took for the mortar shell to arch overhead and promptly detonate in a blinding flash of white light. The afterimage of the mortar's path was imprinted in her vision as the delicate nerves in her eyes were overwhelmed by the powerful phosphorous flare, like the purple glow from the flash of a camera. Dimly, she was aware of people staggering around her, also blinded by the sudden light. She curled tight into a ball as heavy work boots pounded into the ground around her. Someone tripped over her and fell in a tangle of flailing arms and legs. She rolled away and tried to stagger upright, still blinking away the effects of the flare. As she did, she felt someone grab her roughly and push her to the pavement. She was about to protest when the ear-splitting retort of automatic gunfire assaulted her eardrums. It was like a dozen firecrackers going off in quick succession, held inches from her ear. She tried to move away but more people were running around her, their armoured forms knocking her back. She stood and was immediately pushed down. Something thrust itself in front of her face, empty glass eyes and bulky filters. Almost deafened by the gunfire, Deryn could still make out the tinny words:

"Stay down! Do you want to die?"

Deryn nodded and the thing disappeared. For a seemingly endless moment, the gunfire went on. And then it pattered out, leaving only a ringing in Deryn's ears. She breathed in to steady herself and began coughing from the acrid taste of gun smoke. In the distance however, the gunfire persisted. Clearly, the riots were bigger than she had first thought. The strange glass and metal face came through the haze and the same tinny voice asked her in uncertain English:

"Are you well?"

"I am... I am fine."

The face nodded its helmeted head.

"Good. I am glad we got here in time."

By now, Deryn had rubbed the after-effects of the flare out of her eyes and looked around. A pair of large six-legged walkers stood in the middle of the street. Men in the grey overcoats and dull metal cuirasses of the German Army walked between them, their rifles unslung. Large machineguns pointed from the walker's front like the mandibles of a scarabesque and more helmeted heads and rifles stuck out of the armoured body. Down the street, a dozen limp bodies lay sprawled on the pavement, their airguns and other weapons toy-like compared to the vast bulk of the German walkers. She turned and started. The German soldier who had rescued her had removed his gasmask which was now bouncing on his chest as he walked over to her. He was much younger than she had expected, barely a few years older than her. He gave her a lopsided smile.

"You are safe?"

His English was not as fluent as Alek's or Volger's and his statement ended up sounding like a question. Deryn replied in German to put him at ease.

"Yes. Thank you."

He nodded and spoke in German.

"It was no problem. The Army protects its _Hiwis_."

Deryn gave him a questioning look.

"Oh, sorry: _Hilfswillige_. We call them _Hiwis_. It means helper. You are translator, yes? That's why the rioters were targeting you."

Well, that was a safer option than saying that she was protecting an exiled Prince of Austria. She was about to ask for more when one of the other German soldiers ran over, a bulky field radio strapped to his back.

"Sir! Major Färber is demanding that we head back to base. The rebels have made a move on Wormwood Airbase and we can't evacuate with that airbeast overhead."

All of their eyes drifted upwards at that. The airbeast was still circling above London, seemingly indifferent to the brutal fire fights being waged in the streets of the capital. The remains of the zeppelin had fallen somewhere in the beyond their line of sight, marked by the orange glow of distant fires. After a moment, the young German officer found himself and nodded.

"Yes. We should head back to Horse Guard Avenue at once."

Wait... Had he just said they were headquartered on Horse Guard Avenue? As in... Deryn stepped up to the officer, a wide smile on her face.

"You don't happen to need a translator, do you?"

* * *

I am considering starting a new Leviathan based story. The fact is the way I write and how I like to portray people and events is very different from the way Mr Westerfeld does. If I do start a new one, it will probably be in an original setting but with Leviathan's characters. I think that would allow me to do all of the nasty things I do to people (this chapter being one unbroken stream of human misery after all) without feeling like I am ruining Westerfeld's own world. I don't know. Give me some thoughts and we'll see how it goes.


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